Sometimes we do things out of politeness because we think this will spare someone else’s feelings. How often have we said “I am busy,” “I am tired,” “I’ll call you later,” “I don’t have time”? What we really mean is “get out of my life,” “I don’t love you any more,” “please go away.” However, we are trained to be nice and polite. We do not really want to hurt someone else’s feelings.
But by saying things diplomatically, don’t you think it makes it worse? I have gone through an array of human beings during my life time. I have been taught to be nice, to not hurt someone’s feelings. However, I wonder whether going the “nuclear” option (that is, just be honest) may be the best solution. If something festers like a cancer, don’t you think it is best to cut it off, rather than smooth it with medication? What the later does is to just shrink the cancer; it does not go away. Cutting it off will at least give you a chance to start anew, even if it may be illusory.
I wonder how many people have I hurt by saving words that I do not mean. I wonder how many of them do really know what I mean, and go away quietly, cursing the day that I met them. They say that honesty is the best medicine. It may be the best medicine but it hurts a lot.
I thought I had nothing to write today. Just relax, take a hike up a nearby trail. However, the best laid plans can be thrown asunder. When I checked my inbox this afternoon, someone from my past sent me the following:
siempre te recuerdo
tus susurros a mi oido
tu cuerpo exitado
tus labios besandome
tus manos tocandome
How do I respond to that? For a second, I thought of replying to him, saying how happy I was that he remembered me. Then, as introspection descended, I realized that nothing has changed. All the reasons why I stopped communicating with him are still there. Money. I remembered that those words were exactly the same words he sent me in another email a long time ago. Can’t he be a bit more creative than that?
As the saying goes, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, well….
Y para mi querido, te doy esto para que te diviertes. Se que estas muy cansado.
This came from pinterest:
Se que estabas chequeando cuando enlazo mi blog en Facebook. No se que travesura en mi mente me hacen poner cosas como esto, decirlo a todo el mundo y, gracias a esta tecnología, solo tu entiendes de lo que digo. Y no te preocupes mi querido, solo tu lo ves allí.
Este es mi experimento de escribir en Castellano. Si, el español no existe. En lo mismo que el Ingles no existe. Todas estas lenguas que hablamos son combinaciones de gestos humanos. Ay, mi mente se va a otros lugares ahorita. Tengo que regresar a lo que estoy pensando y no ser un cobarde.
O si! Del amor. Ayer vi una película con el titulo “los hombres al lado,” o en Ingles “the men next door.” Es sobre un chavo de treinta anos de edad. Accidentalmente, el tuvo citas con dos hombres que eran padre y hijo. El padre diez anos mas, el hijo, diez anos menos. El chavo estaba enamorado de los dos. No podía decidir entre ellos cual sera la persona con quien pasar la vida. Ellos, los dos, continuaron ir a las citas porque no querían también de perderle. Y sabemos todo de lo que pasara próximo, no?
Ellos los dos no podían continuar una relación conjunto de tres. El tenia que decidir. Y como decidió? En la película, fue la persona que le movió los sentimientos mas. Nos se si en la vida real sera como eso también. Si querías leer un fin cierto, lo siento. Hasta ahora, no se como ver el fin.
A couple of days ago, I decided to hike around a nearby trail. Gosh, I have been doing that since moving to this side of San Francisco Bay. Used to do that more often during my younger years. Nowadays, I usually let the stair machine at the gym do the work, preferring the stare of sweaty bodies (rather than the outdoor’s green view). I am regressing again. What I am trying to say is that during this walk, memories came flooding to my consciousness of a long dead friend of mine. His name was Karl Distad. [NOTE: What I did not know until I started writing this, is that Karl’s birthday was in May. Spooky, nah.]
Karl befriended me at work. Those were the late Reagan years and the early Clinton years. Karl was the designated gay man at work whose job was to sniff out greenhorn newbie workers with a homosexual tendency. He circled around me for a couple of months until we decided to go out on a picnic lunch together at a nearby park. At that time, I had a beautiful red Fiat Spider convertible. We drove to the park in that car while my car’s cassette tape player played Pet Shop Boy music. After the picnic, Karl said: “You know, I knew you were gay the moment you started playing the Pet Shop Boys.” We became the greatest of friends. It was from Karl that I got the bug for travels to far away places. We were also airline junkies, discussing which airline had the cuties stewards and how we can get upgrades to business class by doing nothing. Those were the years when ground crew had enough authority to give you an upgrade if you dress nicely and ask politely. Now it is all different, everything is according to your status with the airline’s computer.
Karl also had a deep secret that he did not tell me until the later years. Yes, you guessed right my dear reader, he was infected with HIV…and the only drug available was AZT. All what AZT did was to slow the virus. Once the virus assimilated, it started to spread again. There were a couple of painful years to witness. I don’t know why I can write so methodologically now. Distance in time make past feelings hazy. Karl dealt with his end courageously. He continued traveling, even if that mean strapping himself to the airplane’s seat. He continued working until it was too obvious. I wish I could say that death came peaceful. But death never comes peaceful with humans. We do not allow humans to die peacefully. We insert tubes and chemicals until we can’t.
Karl did achieve some temporary immortality by staying in the reams of my memory. That will disappear once it is my turn.
Oh, yes, total 180 turn around on my story. What about “discrete” love? To only you whom I allow to see this page via Facebook:
It has been four years since I last posted on this blog. Time slips by if you are not careful. One day, your brain is still bright and alert, the next, you can’t bring the world out of your tongue.
I have grown older but not wiser. I have been hiding on Facebook. It is so easy to hide on Facebook. Check messages, check who is following whom, make a “like” here and there, and half of your day is gone. I better start writing again or both halves of my mushy brain will really turn into mush. I am already witnessing a dear friend of mine slowly die a thousand strokes a day by just being in front of a computer monitor, clicking links away.
I am not sure why I am posting again. Maybe the news of TUMBLR being acquired by Yahoo, or the couples of messages that I exchanged with a Facebook friend. He was the father of someone I briefly knew and who has been dead awhile ago. I posted a story about him years ago here. But for his father keeping his torch alive, his memory may have faded into the recesses of my brain.
If you really ask me why I am starting to post again, well, it is because I can. LOL
Now for something really from my childhood years: