Love

You were the light of my eye. The proof and the reward of patience. You were my pride, the pearl of my redemption, my treasure. So quickly is that light extinguished and the eye left darkened. So swiftly is patience nullified and made into mockery. So simply, so without ceremony has the pearl become but a common stone, like fool's gold, a wealth that evaporates when tested and weighed. Ah, but love is love, as many have said. It is what it is. A whim? A passing thought? An entrepreneur slyly seeking the most lucrative deal? What is love? Is it like the skin that a snake has left behind, providing nouishment for the most inconsequential of insects? And, after all, the living thing has moved on. How many skins does a snake shed in a lifetime? I should know this. It is on the tip of my tongue. And yet, the answer itself would be but a word, and words have long since vacated their worth and left behind echoes in empty shells and grains of common sand.

My Particular Talent

I have always had a particular talent for making bad decisions. So said my father, who never, in my recollection was wrong, by his own estimation, anyway. And often enough, I had to agree. You're right, that was stupid. And yet, there was always this curiously eloquent whisper from within - 'Stupid, yes, moronic, even, but how could you, being you, have done things any other way?'

After my father passed, other people took up the torch. 'This is stupid, you're going to be hurt, you're going to lose. Think of yourself.'

And yet, when I thought of myself, there was that whisper again, that still, quiet voice. 'I am you. You are me. We shall lose together, and when it is done, we will still be together.'

I tried to kill him with philosophy. I tried to kill him with alcohol. I tried to kill him with insults and beatings, and yet the bruises, the lashes were borne in my own body. This hurt worse than losing. And bothered the whisperer not at all.

'I am meek,' he said. 'My burden is light. And in me you shall find your rest.'

The Big Fat Brown Dog

The big fat brown dog lives just up to the corner and down the street a piece. She lives in a sort of community dwelling with lots of people, young and old. When you pass by in the evening you can often see them all gathered at the front of the dwelling for a commnal dinner, and the big fat brown dog is always sitting at the center of the party. This may be one reason she is so big and fat. I imagine that she gets plenty of handouts - rice and chicken and bones and eggs and lots of spicy stuff mixed in. But I know that she also patrols the neighborhood and visits other houses and other dinners. The other day, I saw her sitting at lunch with the workers who are building a house on the corner. Two or three times during the day, she will push open my front door to see what we have to eat. Often, in the afternoon, she will nap here in the house, as I am most often home in the afternoon, and then in the early evening will amble back home. She looks to be fairly old now, and she has clearly had many, many puppies in her lifetime. So now it is her time to relax. She doesn't like being bothered by other dogs. She doesn't chase motorbikes or cats or other dogs. Too much effort. She likes to eat. And sleep. And she likes to have her fur brushed. And she likes my wife to pick fleas and ticks out of her fur. I don't like messing with the fleas and ticks, and she knows this too. She's an awfully nice dog. A low maintenance dog. When she's not hungry, she's sleepy, and when she's not sleepy, she's hungry. I don't know what the big fat dog's real name is. But Big Fat Brown Dog suits her fine for me. 

Samwell

When I walk into Starbucks this morning, my coffee, dengan susu dipisah, is ready on the counter, for the Barista has seen me parking my bike across the street. Now that's service :) I like to relax and read while at Starbucks, but one of the doormen there likes to visit - and I should not, and do not, feel put upon. One has all the time in the world to read, less time to actually communicate with a fellow human being, especially one who doesn't mind interpreting my poor indonesian as well as repeating himself so that I might fully understand. This is a Christian man, in his early 30s, I suppose, whose name is Samuel, which he pronounces "Samwell", after the Old Testament prophet. He is overjoyed to talk to an American (we seem oftentime to be afforded this undeserved deference), and an American Christian at that, which he seems to feel is the most elevated sort (how wrong he is!). Anyway, we talk about America and family and children and brothers and sisters and his home island, where all people, he says, are Christian. In fact, he insists that I come there with him. We will fly to the island, then he will take me to his parents' house on his motorbike.

"Yeah, that sounds nice," I say.

"When?" he answers.

"Eh?"

"When do you come?"

"Umm ... "

"I take to you to my parents' house on motorbike, one night, no problem. They will be so excited to have an American stay with them."

Okay. Well, here's the thing. This sort of friendliness, this sort of hospitality, this sort of openness is ... well, downright un-American. I have yet to overcome my national sense of reticence, my practiced neutrality, my misplaced sense of propriety and expectation for the presence of certain conditions -- like, for instance, being friends first. I know this is wrong of me, but there it is. At the same time, I know it is perfectly Christian, and I envy the man's easy aptitude for brotherhood and relationship.

I cannot help but feel that it would be good for me to be more like Samwell :)

Toilet Paper

While I was in the bathroom today, I could not help but think of my old friend and former Bali resident, Rosemary Barnes.

Now, hold on. I can explain.

We were talking once about various irritating things associated with Bali, things that just don't seem to function appropriately, and Rosemary happened to mention new toilet paper rolls that cannot be unraveled. No matter where you try to start, you run into a dead end. You manage to tease out a crease in the paper, tear out a thin strip, but find yourself back where you started. You start again. The same thing happens. Time passes. The roll will not be undone. I mean, if I wanted to spend this much time in the bathroom, I could have brought along a Rubik's Cube, or a copy of Les Miserables.

Of course, eventually one ends up destroying a portion of the roll so that he can be done with the business and get on about his day. And perhaps this is the plan of the manufacturer from the outset, given the portion of each roll that ends up shredded and disgarded in the course of one's efforts.

Repo Man

Happened to talk with a guy up at the neighborhood Circle K this morning whose job here is to repossess cars and bikes on which the payments are derelict. A "repo man", as we say in America - a term that he was happy to learn. Somehow, I never pictured the existence of repo men here, although it certainly makes all the sense in the world that they have them, given that people are likely enough not to have even a licence or a registration. In fact, I have wondered often enough how it happened that so many people here could afford brand new Jeeps and Land Cruisers and such-like. Well, I guess driving them is one thing, paying for them is sometimes another.

This was a big man, with arms thicker than my thighs, and I certainly would not want him showing up at my door, nor would I dare to try to impede him from taking unpaid-for property. Nonetheless, he mentioned that many people will want to fight him, outraged at the the thought that he could just come and take the car they were not paying for. One man pulled a knife, he said, another a Samurai sword!

Do you carry a weapon? I asked.

No, no. Just use my fists.

Hebat, ya?

Rare

Whilst Googling around today, I was surprised to learn that there are only about 400,000 people in the US with multiple sclerosis. For some reason, I thought there were several million. Apparently, I'm more special than I realized. Clearly a rarity among 324 million Americans. My parents always said I would be special someday.