In the place called “the land of earthquakes," a person would refuse to address anything earthshaking, but
Showing posts with label Short Story/Article. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Short Story/Article. Show all posts
Sunday, February 22, 2009
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA: MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE…
Sunday, February 15, 2009
PUPPET GUIDE STRINGS
There is no real love. There are only pretensions of it. The weaker ones depend too much on such delusion, and when it fails them they have nothing to fall back on. They waste tears over matters that the world gives not a care about, and suffer miserably when betrayal consumes their innocence and trust.
It is nothing but a big lie. I spent my early years in poverty, at least, after all our family ventures felt short of luck, and we stripped dry of our resources. Our status hit rock bottom, and we nearly starved.
It would have been easier that way. But my two brothers, in denial of our already deplorable condition or perhaps fit with no courage to go on, took on with their substance abuse – and paid for it. One was caught red-handed and thrown into jail to rot. The other, who crossed rival gangs with his stupid tricks, was found in the streets one night with some fifteen stab wounds on his torso. None I remember cried for him except mom. What I knew, he deserved it.
My father, who took a beating on our financial ruin, went twisted and became invalid. In his stronger days, he taught me domestic violence was an acceptable everyday occurrence. When stroke got the better of him, all what’s left of our money was slowly drained to keep him breathing. I did not wait for further complication. I made it all look like an accident. No one would suspect. I had no memories of childhood. I was forced to be an adult so soon.
Despite such burdens, I was privileged to an education. My masters recognized my passion and gift to discern the natural sciences so I was given the support to finish school. I took all opportunity to gather what I could need. I listened intently. But it was not the class lectures, the diagrams from my books that provided me the knowledge of greatest value. It was the awareness of my being.
It was in late adolescence when it came to me how the game of life was played. First, he who has the most power decides over the fate of the weaker ones. Second, it is not important how you get into power and abuse it, what matters is that you don’t get caught.
Perhaps, it was my early bitterness that spawned this unpopular observation, which triggered me desirously to take control. But I was so sure it was no chemical imbalance. It was in my blood, a force that told me I had to rule. I had to be… a god.
I finished college at the top of the class. With all misfortunes to happen, my mom fell ill, not due to her age but because of her stubbornness to beg me for even if it sorely damaged her health. She expired a week before I received my laurels. Without a family, morality became ore subjective. My natural talent for gab and my credentials fast won me the respect of many. I became an executive at the age of 27.
In between, it was all cheat. I instinctively learned maneuvering around people. I walked amongst them like a normal person. I showed sympathy to friends as a brother would. I didn’t tell the truth, only what they wanted to hear. I even practice the softening of my eyes that went a made-up smile. I was so good at it. So good.
Of course, there were the less intelligent beings who challenged my influence. They, who had the same wickedness as I, ended up without a funeral. I did not tolerate insults. They just played in the dark – I lived in it. And those dogs I buried them so deep they won’t be found for a long time. Their screams were songs in my sleep.
I learned too much. No more pain or a sense of dejection I could recall that settled in my soul. But neither did any bliss or joy lift my spirits. Except when rehearsed to confront people, I could neither laugh nor cry. I was empty. I was dead yet alive. But I never saw myself as a victim. For what THEN possibly hurt me?
NOTHING. I believed I could never be shattered. A creature with no emotions, not even hate, need not seek from others of his species, any degree of satisfaction. I resigned to the conclusion that until the cold arms of death embraced me I should be left unharmed. Or so I thought.
My perverse pleasures with women led me to a mistake I did not exactly welcome. One of them brought to life my son. To protect my name as a society would see me fit, I married the woman and took the child in.
He was so beautiful. His eyes showed no stain of sin or intent of malice. Something in him I was disgusted to admit I liked. I saw myself in his helplessness. He reminded me of home. My fondness grew into a stronger affection. I was not aware at first. But as I witnessed him take the years; I felt the need to procure for him. And much more, I did all means to forbid any disease to corrupt him. I reserved him for the Catholics. He must remain ignorant to evil.
All of a sudden, the world I created for myself alone was no more. I finally learned to value another human being, which was before, unimaginable to me. The fortress I built to keep me locked up was finally invaded by a comforting presence. I found no more reasons to hide behind a deceitful smile.
I love my son. But what did I receive in return? I lie here crippled on the floor - wasted, I am grasping for my breath. My lids are open but my eyes see everything like smoke. Every inch of my systems is collapsing from within, my guts spitting it out. My veins flooded with curdling blood and my chest like pierced with daggers. The heavy metal poison he tricked me to ingest is slowly effecting itself, only a matter of time. It’ll be over in few minutes, and they’ll declare you have a heart seizure.
So clever you are. You think I’d never find about you, huh? I dreaded that most. Not even a miracle can save you now. I wish not to be. I’m taking over.
I am not stopping you. So wonderful he was, but never pure. He was never innocent. The monster crept into his head and fed on his mind like he did to me. It hid behind a veneer of ordinariness, and to me, it was invisible.
It was there all along, waiting for its time to stretch its dreadful arms out and grapple, dismember its unsuspecting prey. It’s just there and watching us. It is just there, just biding its time. Just – biding its time. He made it all look like an accident. NO one would suspect.
It is nothing but a big lie. I spent my early years in poverty, at least, after all our family ventures felt short of luck, and we stripped dry of our resources. Our status hit rock bottom, and we nearly starved.
It would have been easier that way. But my two brothers, in denial of our already deplorable condition or perhaps fit with no courage to go on, took on with their substance abuse – and paid for it. One was caught red-handed and thrown into jail to rot. The other, who crossed rival gangs with his stupid tricks, was found in the streets one night with some fifteen stab wounds on his torso. None I remember cried for him except mom. What I knew, he deserved it.
My father, who took a beating on our financial ruin, went twisted and became invalid. In his stronger days, he taught me domestic violence was an acceptable everyday occurrence. When stroke got the better of him, all what’s left of our money was slowly drained to keep him breathing. I did not wait for further complication. I made it all look like an accident. No one would suspect. I had no memories of childhood. I was forced to be an adult so soon.
Despite such burdens, I was privileged to an education. My masters recognized my passion and gift to discern the natural sciences so I was given the support to finish school. I took all opportunity to gather what I could need. I listened intently. But it was not the class lectures, the diagrams from my books that provided me the knowledge of greatest value. It was the awareness of my being.
It was in late adolescence when it came to me how the game of life was played. First, he who has the most power decides over the fate of the weaker ones. Second, it is not important how you get into power and abuse it, what matters is that you don’t get caught.
Perhaps, it was my early bitterness that spawned this unpopular observation, which triggered me desirously to take control. But I was so sure it was no chemical imbalance. It was in my blood, a force that told me I had to rule. I had to be… a god.
I finished college at the top of the class. With all misfortunes to happen, my mom fell ill, not due to her age but because of her stubbornness to beg me for even if it sorely damaged her health. She expired a week before I received my laurels. Without a family, morality became ore subjective. My natural talent for gab and my credentials fast won me the respect of many. I became an executive at the age of 27.
In between, it was all cheat. I instinctively learned maneuvering around people. I walked amongst them like a normal person. I showed sympathy to friends as a brother would. I didn’t tell the truth, only what they wanted to hear. I even practice the softening of my eyes that went a made-up smile. I was so good at it. So good.
Of course, there were the less intelligent beings who challenged my influence. They, who had the same wickedness as I, ended up without a funeral. I did not tolerate insults. They just played in the dark – I lived in it. And those dogs I buried them so deep they won’t be found for a long time. Their screams were songs in my sleep.
I learned too much. No more pain or a sense of dejection I could recall that settled in my soul. But neither did any bliss or joy lift my spirits. Except when rehearsed to confront people, I could neither laugh nor cry. I was empty. I was dead yet alive. But I never saw myself as a victim. For what THEN possibly hurt me?
NOTHING. I believed I could never be shattered. A creature with no emotions, not even hate, need not seek from others of his species, any degree of satisfaction. I resigned to the conclusion that until the cold arms of death embraced me I should be left unharmed. Or so I thought.
My perverse pleasures with women led me to a mistake I did not exactly welcome. One of them brought to life my son. To protect my name as a society would see me fit, I married the woman and took the child in.
He was so beautiful. His eyes showed no stain of sin or intent of malice. Something in him I was disgusted to admit I liked. I saw myself in his helplessness. He reminded me of home. My fondness grew into a stronger affection. I was not aware at first. But as I witnessed him take the years; I felt the need to procure for him. And much more, I did all means to forbid any disease to corrupt him. I reserved him for the Catholics. He must remain ignorant to evil.
All of a sudden, the world I created for myself alone was no more. I finally learned to value another human being, which was before, unimaginable to me. The fortress I built to keep me locked up was finally invaded by a comforting presence. I found no more reasons to hide behind a deceitful smile.
I love my son. But what did I receive in return? I lie here crippled on the floor - wasted, I am grasping for my breath. My lids are open but my eyes see everything like smoke. Every inch of my systems is collapsing from within, my guts spitting it out. My veins flooded with curdling blood and my chest like pierced with daggers. The heavy metal poison he tricked me to ingest is slowly effecting itself, only a matter of time. It’ll be over in few minutes, and they’ll declare you have a heart seizure.
So clever you are. You think I’d never find about you, huh? I dreaded that most. Not even a miracle can save you now. I wish not to be. I’m taking over.
I am not stopping you. So wonderful he was, but never pure. He was never innocent. The monster crept into his head and fed on his mind like he did to me. It hid behind a veneer of ordinariness, and to me, it was invisible.
It was there all along, waiting for its time to stretch its dreadful arms out and grapple, dismember its unsuspecting prey. It’s just there and watching us. It is just there, just biding its time. Just – biding its time. He made it all look like an accident. NO one would suspect.
OUR SOUL NEEDS ICE CREAM
Last October I took my kid to a fast food chain. My eight-year-old son asked me if he could say grace before we eat. As we closed our eyes, bowed our heads and felt his presence, he said, "God is good, God is great, all the time. Thank you for the food, and I would thank you even more if dad would get ice cream for dessert, and Liberty and Justice for all! Amen."
Together with the laughter from the other customers nearby, I warmly heard a woman remark, "That's what I’m talking about, that’s what's wrong with this country. Kids today don't even know how to pray. Why would you ask God for ice cream! Why, I would never!” As I’ve heard this, my son burst into tears and suddenly asked me, "Did I do it wrong? Will God be mad at me?" As I stare at him, held him and reassured him that he just had done a terrific job and God was certainly not mad at him, an old gentleman walked towards the table and approached my kid. He theatrically winked at my son and said, "I firmly happen to know that God thought that was a perfect prayer." "Really?" my son asked. "I promise, Cross my heart."
And he added to that with a gestural whisper (pointing the old man’s lips the woman whose remark had started this whole thing), "Too bad for her, she never asks God for ice cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes." And then my son suddenly smiled and wiped the tears in his eyes.
So I bought my kid’s ice cream at the end of the meal. My son happily stared at his for a moment and then did something I will never forget for the rest of my life. He picked up his chocolate sundae and without a word he walked over and put it in front of the woman. With a big smile he suddenly told her, "Here, this is for you ma’am. Ice cream is good for the soul sometimes, and my soul is good already.
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