But it’s over now. Last weekend I was strolling along the beach, enjoying the fine weather when someone started waving in my peripheral vision and calling my name. It was him. I couldn’t suppress a rolling of the eyes.
“Oh! I knew that soon or later I would come face to face with you. Only I had hoped it would be much later.” He apparently didn’t grasp the contempt in my voice for he carried on all smiles and enthusiasm.
“How have you been? It’s so nice to see you, you look fabulous”
As fast as my mind works, I couldn’t come up with an insult based on so little information “Hum… thanks.”
“Do you have five minutes so we could sit down and chat?”
“Not really. Five minutes is asking much from me.”
“Please…” Sigh.
“What the heck.” We walked to a log on the beach. I sat a good yard away from him. At once he started creeping into my personal space, missing the point entirely.
“I just wanted to tell you how much I miss you and how fabulous it was to have you in my life. It could have been so different, could still? I have such fond memories of you, of us. You’re an amazing woman.”
“We are so utterly disparate once again. Unfortunately, my last impression of you is one of a man without principle, a liar and a cheat.”
“You don’t understand. Things are different now, I’m different, I’ve changed.”
“Really. Let me guess… you realized how stupid you were with me and you’ll never do it again.”
“I said I was sorry. Doesn’t it count for something?”
“No.” Although he tried hard to control himself, he lost patience, got up, wished me all the best, and left. I’ll tell you that, he’s got a way about swift leaves…
I doubt I’ll hear from him again, there is something terribly wounding about looking into the sunglasses of a loved one and see but your own begging eyes looking back at you.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
A Moment with Oracio
Oracio is a dear friend of mine. At the outset, he appears to be a slightly aloof and distant personage who imposes respect. But he is also gifted with limitless wit and intelligence. Therefore, it is with delight that I watch him deal with the many surprises life threw at him: children.
Last Christmas, Oracio had a nasty car accident. No one was injured but the car was beyond repair. It was in many ways a blessing. It had become quite an ordeal to load two children in a two-door sports car. Resigned to upgrade from bachelor wheels to a proper family car, Oracio went shopping. When he finally set his mind to a particular make and model, came time to choose the color and sign the contact. Before leaving for the dealership, Oracio kissed his two-year old daughter for good luck; the previous car had been a lemon.
“Daddy is going to buy a new car today. What color should daddy buy it?”
“Yellow?”
“Hum. Well. I’ll see what I can do.” Yellow? Hardly part of his regular color palette.
“And what color would you like it to be?” asked the salesman, “With the options you chose, there are two cars readily available, a black one and a light grey/sage with a tint of goldish yellow…”
I never thought Oracio would look so distinguished in a yellow car…
Last Christmas, Oracio had a nasty car accident. No one was injured but the car was beyond repair. It was in many ways a blessing. It had become quite an ordeal to load two children in a two-door sports car. Resigned to upgrade from bachelor wheels to a proper family car, Oracio went shopping. When he finally set his mind to a particular make and model, came time to choose the color and sign the contact. Before leaving for the dealership, Oracio kissed his two-year old daughter for good luck; the previous car had been a lemon.
“Daddy is going to buy a new car today. What color should daddy buy it?”
“Yellow?”
“Hum. Well. I’ll see what I can do.” Yellow? Hardly part of his regular color palette.
“And what color would you like it to be?” asked the salesman, “With the options you chose, there are two cars readily available, a black one and a light grey/sage with a tint of goldish yellow…”
I never thought Oracio would look so distinguished in a yellow car…
Sunday, March 22, 2009
The Apple
A few weeks ago, I was talking on the phone with my dad. He was telling me how disappointed he was that my brother and I both live so far away from home. Little does he know that home is precisely where I live but of course, he meant by that to live in the same city as my parents. He could not understand why both his children had chosen to move far away and keep contact to a bare minimum, if at all.
How he could even remotely be surprised by such a fact is beyond me. Are we not invariably similar to our parents? Don’t they say that the apple never falls far from the tree? I mean we got our family values from them.
As a child, I understood that my dad had to work, and that his work took him away from home. Still, he was not home. Sporadically he would spent a few days with us, but most of the time, he was away. To us, he was doing something, somewhere, with other people whom we didn’t know. My dad certainly had both advantages and disadvantages in this situation. He could only call home when he reached a port, but then again, much depended on the time of day, on his workload or mental disposition at the time. I don’t believe for a moment that my father ever forced himself upon calling us when he was tired, irritated, in a bad mood or in great need of sleep or further time off for himself. He chose the periods of interactions between us all depending on his own needs. I remember times when my mother would wake us up in the middle of the night because my dad wanted to say hello to us. Was it really for our own good? Doubtful. When my father was home, there was the discomfort of having a clumsy and irritable – stranger – giving orders and making new rules, which added confusion to our already miserable lives. When he would come home, he’d be bringing bags of toys and goodies and later on money, becoming an instant favorite to my mother’s great damn, and as we were slowly adjusting to his presence, he would leave again.
So what did my father instill in us? That nothing last more than a few days? That unless it is fun, fun, fun, there is no point in doing it? That continuity is but an abstract concept? That love is something you must earn? That a family is these people you think about but never get to spend real time with? That when love and affection comes your way, you’d better be in a good mood or the connection might get cut off? Or simply that it’s still easier to stay on the outside and avoid being hurt altogether? I wonder how he expected us/me to be so utterly different from him? Because he is getting older and he would like to be surrounded by his loved ones, not to be left to feel so alone? I know the feeling.
My mother on the other hand, was a paranoid narcissist with a deep inferiority complex. She did what her duty required by getting married and having children but she resented the world for it. In her mind, everything rotated around her, everything was about her, and you were either on her side or against her. If you were deemed to be on the wrong side, you were never to be forgiven. Her memory to this day is perfect and perfectly adaptable to her needs. I can spend fifteen minutes on the phone with her and be reminded of every ones of my failing moments. She has innocence in her scorn and disdain. It always takes a few seconds to realize the full atrocity of her speech. She lives in a world of appearances. As long as we looked normal and acted accordingly, the rest mattered not. That her children may be emotionally crippled, that her husband may be totally disengaged, that her family be but a farce had nothing to do with her. She was so utterly terrified at the idea that others might have to come first from time to time, that when my parents divorced, she refused alimony; she could not bare the thought of having to spend that money on us. Instead, we were left to deal directly with my father who, of course, was never nearby when we needed him. There was simply no room for us. Not in her life, not in her heart, not in her house. A few years ago, my mother started complaining of solitude. She felt neglected by her ungrateful children, we had responsibilities towards her and she demanded we moved nearby to fulfill them. As you can imagine, it is downright out of the question. After several months of gentle persuasion, she eventually got a cat. She went to a local shelter and took an older one whose previous owner had recently passed away. She kept it almost three weeks and brought it back. She was berserk. The cat had the unfortunate misconception that it was all right to roam around the house. Freewill had been that poor cat’s downfall. A few months later, I went to visit her. She had bought a stuffed cat. It sat motionless on a designated chair. She even bought a stuffed child which was standing against a wall; back facing her and rubbing its eyes as if it had cried. She felt surrounded, she was contented.
As you can imagine, my mother’s legacy was no more glorious than my father’s. The mere fact that we made it both alive is a miracle in itself. That we chose to never have anything to do with one another, quite predictable. How could my parents believe for a moment that they could sow emotional aloofness, neglect, indifference and think that when the time comes, they would harvest love and affection?
Sadly enough, we all have to live with the choices we made.
How he could even remotely be surprised by such a fact is beyond me. Are we not invariably similar to our parents? Don’t they say that the apple never falls far from the tree? I mean we got our family values from them.
As a child, I understood that my dad had to work, and that his work took him away from home. Still, he was not home. Sporadically he would spent a few days with us, but most of the time, he was away. To us, he was doing something, somewhere, with other people whom we didn’t know. My dad certainly had both advantages and disadvantages in this situation. He could only call home when he reached a port, but then again, much depended on the time of day, on his workload or mental disposition at the time. I don’t believe for a moment that my father ever forced himself upon calling us when he was tired, irritated, in a bad mood or in great need of sleep or further time off for himself. He chose the periods of interactions between us all depending on his own needs. I remember times when my mother would wake us up in the middle of the night because my dad wanted to say hello to us. Was it really for our own good? Doubtful. When my father was home, there was the discomfort of having a clumsy and irritable – stranger – giving orders and making new rules, which added confusion to our already miserable lives. When he would come home, he’d be bringing bags of toys and goodies and later on money, becoming an instant favorite to my mother’s great damn, and as we were slowly adjusting to his presence, he would leave again.
So what did my father instill in us? That nothing last more than a few days? That unless it is fun, fun, fun, there is no point in doing it? That continuity is but an abstract concept? That love is something you must earn? That a family is these people you think about but never get to spend real time with? That when love and affection comes your way, you’d better be in a good mood or the connection might get cut off? Or simply that it’s still easier to stay on the outside and avoid being hurt altogether? I wonder how he expected us/me to be so utterly different from him? Because he is getting older and he would like to be surrounded by his loved ones, not to be left to feel so alone? I know the feeling.
My mother on the other hand, was a paranoid narcissist with a deep inferiority complex. She did what her duty required by getting married and having children but she resented the world for it. In her mind, everything rotated around her, everything was about her, and you were either on her side or against her. If you were deemed to be on the wrong side, you were never to be forgiven. Her memory to this day is perfect and perfectly adaptable to her needs. I can spend fifteen minutes on the phone with her and be reminded of every ones of my failing moments. She has innocence in her scorn and disdain. It always takes a few seconds to realize the full atrocity of her speech. She lives in a world of appearances. As long as we looked normal and acted accordingly, the rest mattered not. That her children may be emotionally crippled, that her husband may be totally disengaged, that her family be but a farce had nothing to do with her. She was so utterly terrified at the idea that others might have to come first from time to time, that when my parents divorced, she refused alimony; she could not bare the thought of having to spend that money on us. Instead, we were left to deal directly with my father who, of course, was never nearby when we needed him. There was simply no room for us. Not in her life, not in her heart, not in her house. A few years ago, my mother started complaining of solitude. She felt neglected by her ungrateful children, we had responsibilities towards her and she demanded we moved nearby to fulfill them. As you can imagine, it is downright out of the question. After several months of gentle persuasion, she eventually got a cat. She went to a local shelter and took an older one whose previous owner had recently passed away. She kept it almost three weeks and brought it back. She was berserk. The cat had the unfortunate misconception that it was all right to roam around the house. Freewill had been that poor cat’s downfall. A few months later, I went to visit her. She had bought a stuffed cat. It sat motionless on a designated chair. She even bought a stuffed child which was standing against a wall; back facing her and rubbing its eyes as if it had cried. She felt surrounded, she was contented.
As you can imagine, my mother’s legacy was no more glorious than my father’s. The mere fact that we made it both alive is a miracle in itself. That we chose to never have anything to do with one another, quite predictable. How could my parents believe for a moment that they could sow emotional aloofness, neglect, indifference and think that when the time comes, they would harvest love and affection?
Sadly enough, we all have to live with the choices we made.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
The Flu
Although last week it seemed as though I was brought to my knees by a perfectly banal migraine, it turned out it was rather the peak of a full blown flu. Since I have gone through all the hellish symptoms from fatigue, muscle pain, dry eyes, nausea, fever, to a vicious stomach flu, which, oddly enough, reminds me of my last Mexican holidays, but that’s another story. Still, the point here was not to gross you out, but to advise as to the reason for my prolong silence. The simple act of looking at the computer screen sends me rushing; wobbling really, towards the bathroom, in a fun game of hit and miss.
So bare with me and I’ll make another attempt at connecting in a few days.
So bare with me and I’ll make another attempt at connecting in a few days.
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