Mass

I'm not big on religion. I was at one point, but I was a child. I don't remember now if I really enjoyed it or I think that I did because I knew all the prayers and it was something we did as a family. By the time I was 8, my view of religion started to change.

My mom sometimes calls me a "rebel without a cause." I always think I have a cause - justice. It is because of justice that I tried to turn my back on religion as I held it responsible for many of the injustices in my life.

When something is hammered into me and I'm expected to accept a truth that is not my own, I get angry and in that anger reject all that is presented. Growing up, mi abuelita tried to force religion, God, y todos los santos upon me, shoving them down my throat and leaving me with a bitter and resentful after taste. She never understood that her violent attempts caused just the opposite of what she was trying to accomplish. I stopped praying and began to doubt, to question, stating that if there indeed was a God, I needed proof and that if I doubted, it was because I had a brain and that was, furthermore, a compliment to the Almighty, as I was living proof that we were created in His image.

Now that I'm older, I'm trying to return to my religious roots; I go to church pretty often, I try to pray, but it's difficult. I'm not sure I have faith. At times I think I do, but more often than not I question the existence of a being I have never seen and perhaps haven't even felt. Then I feel guilty. i feel guilty for doubting - faith is blind, therefore hard to accept. Then, whenever I'm faced with torment, I wonder if it is my punishment for lacking faith, That doesn't seem fair though. I'm still a good person and I try to do the right thing, so being punished for questioning wouldn't be right, especially if God is indeed the just God I believe him to be. He must be. He needs to be. He feeds hope. He lifts spirits. He heals broken hearts. How can I believe again? How can I stop doubting?

As far as mi abuelita is concerned, she is still a major reason for my religious allergies. I don't know why, maybe because I'm now an adult and she has absolutely no leverage over me, even when I'm feeling God, I deny it to her. Yesterday was her birthday, I called her para felicitarla (note that I decided it wasn't worth the effort to go out of my way to visit her. It makes me sad but none of my grandparents ever inspired any natural tenderness in me, instead I just feel a sometimes duty-type of love). She asked me when I was going to visit her. For some reason though, talking to her brings me back to my childhood and makes me defensive. I said I didn't know, that I was busy. She said to come over para platicar. I said I'd see when I had time and sure we could talk, as long as religion was kept out of the conversation. I knew what I was saying, just as I knew what she would say. She scolded, accused me of "always being against God." I just cut her off, wished her a Happy Birthday and said good-bye.

I went to mass this morning. As usual, I sat in the back - alone. There was an older couple sitting behind me. After a while, I just walked out because the guy made me sick. He was so grumpy, so unwilling to be there. He made comments the entire time, I'll admit it, I talk in church when I go with other people. I got shhh-ed last time I went with my mom and sisters. But my observations are smart and witty - they're funny. Gugu laughs even as she tells me to shut-up. This dude though, he was just negative. Today, in celebration of Chinese New Year, there was a special ritual. At the end of it, we were instructed my the priest to bow 3 times to the Ancestors' Shrine. Then to bow again to the main celebrant and to one another, wishing everyone New Year happiness. At this point, Grouch the Rude says, "I'm not Chinese." Are you being serious right now?? It just made me sick, to be in the presence of such ignorance. I stayed a few more minutes before walking out in search of food and to get away from the lack of respect of others' culture. Just bow dude, it doesn't cost you anything. Or better yet, don't come.

It was all bad though. I went to the 9:30 AM mass, labeled the "family mass." There were so many families, so many children. There was this cute little girl sitting in front of me, she was maybe 2 and full of energy. At one point she took a rolled up program and started howling. It was disrupting, but super adorable and funny, it made me smile. Going to mass also reinforces my desire to have a family and not be an old mom. In a way, it makes me sad. I don't want to yearn for something that is not in my horizon. What if it never happens? I know I shouldn't think like that, but sometimes it's hard to remain positive and hopeful. Patience is a virtue. I'm not virtuous. I have NO patience. Maybe Sor Isabel was right when she prophesied how much I would suffer if I didn't learn to be patient. Maybe that's my personal cross to bear. Learning patience is like having faith - I see them, understand them, but I'm not sure I'll ever possess either. Here's to hoping and trying. At least I never really give up, which means that somewhere in me faith, patience and hope dwell.

Lucky Forehead

Yesterday, as I crossed the street while minding my own business, this dude walks up to me and declares, "You have a lucky forehead, it's full of light." It was a sunny day though and I do have an oily complexion. But I guess that's not what he meant because he continued, "You are a very lucky person, but your luck has not yet manifested itself. 2010 is when it will happen. Mark my words. 2008 and 2009 were not lucky years for you; those years were full of up and downs." Of course the whole time he's talking I'm standing there with a smirk on my face, while wondering, "is this dude for real?" and, "am I that gullible?" He seemed harmless enough so I thought I'd humor him, so I stood there listening even after the occasional arm pat and hand squeeze. He then took a piece of paper and wrote something on it, crumpled it into a tiny ball, and set it on my open palm. He then asked me 3 questions:

1. Pick a color besides red and black (my 2 favorites!) - I picked blue.
2. Choose a number between 1 and 5 - I chose 4.
3. My birth year - 1983.

He wrote my answers down and showed them to me. He then instructed me to open the little ball in my hand. I unrolled it and EUREKA!! They were my answers - how did he know?! LOL I must admit, I was kind of amazed; it was pretty cool, creepy and suspicious all at once.

He also asked me what kind of luck I most desired - success, love, health. I'm healthy, success is relative, and yes, I'm a girl so yeah, I said love (surprise, surprise). He said this is my lucky year for love. Apparently, there are 2 fellas out there with exceptionally awesome taste and therefore in love with me, but I only love one of them (gasp!). Then, I don't remember what else he said. He said something more about love, maybe that it would all work itself out? I don't know. He told me to remember his face, that I would see him again in April. Hmmm, wonder if I should be creeped out?

Yes, I gave him money - my lunch money. I wanted Thai, but since they only take cash, I was forced to eat clam chowder instead, yuck! But at least my charming Prince of Parfait hooks me up. I can get a medium or large soup for the price of a small.

What's peculiar to me is that I think I crossed this fortune-teller once upon a time; the whole episode feels repeated, though not entirely déjàvu. I just have a vague sense that this has happened to me before, with him. Maybe he's my Guardian Angel of Hope, or perhaps he is a real-life clairvoyant. Then again, he may be just another weirdo loose in the streets of San Francisco.

Epilogue - Walking back to the office, clam chowder in tow, I caught him talking to some dude. I guess homeboy didn't buy it and walked away. I caught up to him and asked, "what did he tell you?" Dude said, "That I have a lucky forehead and this is my lucky year." I exclaimed, "he told me the same thing!" I admit I felt kind of cheated, but went on to share the q&a session. The guy seemed impressed, whether it was genuine or for my sake, I can't say. When we parted ways (after he asked if I gave him money), he told me, "maybe you will be lucky this year." I hope so.

Dusho

Images of you filter through the blink of an eye:
you smiling, you tickling me, you eating,
you kissing me, hugging me, you sleeping,
the relaxation of your face, of your dreams,
softening your masculine features,
changing the man you are during the day
into an innocent child oblivious to the harshness
of the world at night.

You're not the dutiful husband who worries over a skipped meal.
You're not the sweet, sad-eyed boy who whispers, "I love you",
without the expectation of hearing the words he longs for
but is yet to hear in return.
You're just you - humble, kind, generous, strong.
You're just you - proud, fearful, selfish, insecure.

You're just Dusho.
Mi Dusho.

Wisdom of Clarion Alley

"Love doesn’t die just gets buried under fear and failures to be brave. It gets buried under all that sludge."

Philosophizing love on the walls of a San Francisco alley. Random sage asserting the truth - though truth is subjective. A warrior of love defending Love's honor - Love doesn’t die. Is that a romanticized observation or is that a fact? Guess that is both the beauty and foulness of abstractness, it can be molded and manipulated into anything. Love is an abstract idea, an intangible sentiment. The way love manifests itself in me is different than it does in someone else. The sage is right though; too often love, or the potential thereof, does get buried under the fear to allow oneself to love and be loved, it gets buried under the fear of failure to be brave, the fear that the risk will be fruitless, that it will shrivel into nothingness instead. Then the potential of the beautiful possibility of love gets buried under the sludge of cowardice and mediocracy.

What is the world's greatest evil then? It has to be fear to love, because where there is love, fear is absent. Fear is what leads people to lie, cheat, steal, kill, and hurt others because they feel they are inferior and are afraid to accept human kindness and love for humanity. Love on the other hand empowers and gives one the feeling of invincibility, the feeling that anything is possible - si se puede. The hippies had it right in the 60's - peace and love, that's all we really need.

Random Hearing

"…so she said, 'No, I just wanna go to that chicken place' so I dropped her off and that was my mistake" [insert laughter] "Next thing I know, she ain't nowhere to be seen. She made her way to one of the gambling houses!" [Insert more laughter]. Unfortunately I missed the beginning and the end of this conversation which I was not eavesdropping on while waiting for a friend outside of Fox Plaza. The conversation was between two older men - maybe in their mid-fifties - as they sat on on one of those metal tables Starbucks sets outside many of their locations. I sat on the table adjacent to them with my ever-present ipod. But as grace, fate and the circle of life would have it, my poor ipod is dying and due to its (breaks my heart to say it) deficiencies, I was able to unintentionally listen to their gibberish. O como dice el Chavo del Ocho, "Fue sin querer queriendo." Then again, that's how some of the most interesting things in life happen. Just hope she got some money out of her escapade.

The Weakness in Others

I'm tired of making excuses for others. People can be so mean and nasty. The weakness of their hearts and the feebleness of their spirit jades them. They become desensitized, losing all emotion and tact. They become selfish and guarded, always looking out for number one, oblivious to the effect their careless actions, or lack thereof, have upon others.

It's sad to watch the way they go through life, just living without feeling. Like Colonel Aureliano Buendia, they live a stoic existence, living without living and loving without loving. They don't acknowledge their indifference, instead accept it as a "personality problem", citing that "no one is perfect". Their mediocracy is visible in their lack of effort, in their desire to remain as is without attempting to strive to change, to improve, to remove the shackles that enslave them to a life void of emotional experience.

How can they ever be truly happy or satisfied with their lives when they live in fear? The walls that surround their metal-encrusted hearts can't be broken and will not be broken until they choose to remove their cloak of cowardice. Life is not perfect, but it is full of experiences. It kicks you down as it coddles you. It forces you to cry in pain as it leads you to laugh in joy. Indifference though, doesn't bring you anything; it doesn't help you learn and evolve as a human being, it just leaves you as an avatar waiting to come alive.

But because they are afraid, they mask themselves with excuses. They never really own up to their flaws and errors, they just let them be. I'm personally tired of making excuses for assholes, there's too many. What's the point anyway? Saying that their ruthless ways are not intentional doesn't do them any favors, it just gives them a open door to keep on doing it. But, how to fix that? You can't help or change anyone who doesn't want to change. If they don't acknowledge their problem, they're kinda hopeless. I wish I knew what to do with people like that. I say that I will treat them the way they treat me, but I'm not an jerk, though I try. I just feel bad every time I'm mean. How does one evolve into a selfish prick? I want to learn. But I don't want to be a spineless, weak-hearted, excuse-making beast. So, I guess I'm better off crying alone in my room every so often, then being the reason for some one else's tears.

Spirit

The strength of the human heart and spirit does not cease to amaze me. The moment in which one chooses to jump off an emotional cliff in complete disregard to the fear of falling and never waking up, only to discover that the hardest part is letting go. The rocky bottom will not crush you. The endless abyss does not go on forever. Yes, it hurts, it bruises, and it slashes but once you stand up again the fear dissolves and the pain, though not forgotten, lessens with every breath, until one day it fades away, only leaving behind a stronger beating heart, the memory of a battle fought and conquered, and spirit that will never break.

Happy Valentine's Day

Saturday night I went to an art show with the theme of el día del amor y la amistad (barf!). There, I met Antonio (the irony). Antonio is a painter and a very friendly, chattery older gentleman in his 70's. While conversing with him, he confessed that he was married to his wife for 40 years and that, 50 years ago, when he and she decided to enter the contract of matrimony, they decided that their marriage would last exactly 40 years.

Married in 1960, their marriage dissolved in 2000. He still lives with his ex-wife, whom he helps take care of. I wish I could say that theirs is a story of true love, something that gives me hope for the future, but it isn't and it doesn't. Seriously, because it was a Valentine's Day art show, one would think he would share how deep in love he is with her, but no. Again, the irony. By the way he was speaking, it didn't seem that he still loves her, so I asked. He confirmed my thought and nonchalantly said, "No, I don't love her. I take care of her because she is the mother of my children, whom I love dearly. I ceased to love her in the year 2000, when our contract was up." This perplexed me. His tone, his attitude, it just saddened me. He really did sound as though he meant it. I asked him, "Did you ever love her?" He said that he did, during their marriage but once that ended, so did the love.

But, can love end like that? If you truly love someone, a contract can't dictate your heart. I kept pestering him, questioning him, hoping to be gifted with a clue that he was speaking in jest, that he wasn't serious or that he always loved her, or that their love had faded in time and not because their contract was valid for only 40 years, but he didn't give me anything. I told him that love can't work like that. I said, "I can't just pick a guy right now and say, 'Hey, you! Marry me for the next 20 years!' and automatically love him, deeply, passionately until the 20 years are up and then instantly feel nothing for him or what we shared." He said it's possible, that it happened to him.

That makes me so sad, so confused, so frustrated. The ease with which he transcended makes me both pity and envy him. I pity his neutrality, his inability to love, to be so dense, so dry, so loveless. If we are put in this world to live, to love and be loved, then he hasn't done it. To love is to let go and give yourself freely, unconditionally, without expectations. Love is inherent, but it comes with a price - heart-break. That's why I envy him. I envy him for the same reasons I pity him. I wish I too were emotionally challenged and unable to feel. The love dichotomy is too intricate. It is the best high, but also the most evil depressant. It engulfs you with joy, but also shatters you with pain. It gives as it takes. It takes as it gives. It is the simplest emotion, as well as the most complex.

I hate love.

Friday

Sometimes I really do question my judgment -- am I a gullible idiot? Are kindness and stupidity synonymous? I spent my lunch at the pier at the foot of the Ferry Building. It's a place I find myself going to when I feel sad and want to drown away my thoughts in the murky and gray waters of the City by the Bay. Sometimes I go there when I'm happy as well -- I love the feel of the sun shinning on my face, of the cool, blowing breeze, of the birds squawking about, bullying each other for crumbs on the dock, fighting for fish in the sea, I love looking at the horizon and imagining what lies beyond it, I love looking at the cars crossing the Bay Bridge and wondering if anyone I care about is, at that moment, making their way across. In this place I find peace, comfort and quiet solitude. It helps me, not to forget, but to compose my thoughts and feelings. It allows me to feel my sorrow without shame, or feel giddy without an audience. People come and go there, but they blend in with the background, they become part of the environment, like they sad-eyed pigeons and the greedy seagulls, they become another element that, although you feel its presence, it doesn't affect you.

Today, in search of that solace, I made my way there. As I looked into the water, focusing on nothing, thinking of nothing, I saw him again, the weeping man. I offered him my food -- guacamole and chips. He sat down and started eating. We talked a bit, we exchanged names (his is Harka, I think). I learned a little about him, though not much as I don't like being intrusive. Again, he said what he said before, he's hungry and alone. He has been here for 18 months and is from India, that faraway land of mystery and love (Taj Mahal, peeps). Here he has no family to share his misery or joys with. I asked him where he gets his roses from, the ones he tries to sell. He said a flower shop lets him have them. I guess that explains their wilted condition. After a few minutes, we just sat there in silence. Still in silence, he took out his dentures and wiped them clean, removing the crunchy chip residue from the porcelain chompers. He got up, threw the empty guacamole container in the trash, thanked me, and walked away. As he walked away from me, I got up and gave him a dollar (sorry, but I'm poor too…). He smiled and went on his way, approaching people with tears and roses in exchange for, I don't know, money, hope, or kindness.

He left me behind, jumbled in thoughts. First I wondered, am I a fool? Is he taking advantage of me for being stupid, gullible, trusting? Then, I felt guilty for thinking this -- am I that jaded? At the end of the day, I don't know his story, I don't know why his life is the way it is, why he is so sad. But, I think I'm happier believing that he is being honest. Often times, I am disgusted by humanity, disgusted by myself -- we're greedy, manipulative, cruel. I know so many people that are suffering right now and this feeling of helplessness kills me, frustrates me. I think about those women, those old women who have money and sport the designer sweat suits with a big, fat JUICEY stamped across their pancake flat, dried up asses. I see their sour puss faces, usually pulled too tight, making you pity them because even with their monetary resources to find happiness and beauty, their quest is pointless. I get angry and disappointed, but I shouldn't -- that's life and maybe it isn't fair, but we are only responsible for our actions and people who care only about themselves, well, they have free will and maybe one day their karma will catch up, maybe it won't but their actions are not worth the stress.