Doctaji

Doctaji

Writing for Love: A Kanak M. G. life story

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Advice to a Son

24/09/2012

At the age of four my drunk of a Mother told me to always wash my hands before dinner, lunch, breakfast, and whenever I go out. So I do. Upon making it to the age of seven my mechanic of a Father told me to always fight for what is right, and never back down from giving a righteous blow. I do this as well.At the age of eleven while attending my cousin’s wedding my priest of an Uncle told me that I should pray to God, and ask for what is in my heart. I pray for blood.When I turned sixteen, my used-car salesman of a grandfather gave me the keys to a new-used car, and told me to always love the moment I was in, and never forget the moments I passed.  I will never forget how he committed suicide the next day.At the age of seventeen my tramp of a girlfriend told me never to cheat on her. I am still loyal. At twenty two after graduating college with honors, my devil of a father-in-law offered me a job, as general manager, in his textile factory, saying to always listen when opportunity knocks. I knocked him out at the Christmas party. At the age of twenty-four my wife gave birth to a son, the fool of a doctor told me I was the father. I became a father. At the age of twenty seven while driving to day care to pick up my son I received a ticket, the warthog of a police officer told me never to rush. I now make it an effort to always be late. Yesterday, at the age of forty, my son asked me what happiness is. So I put it together for him, “Washing your hands of fighting, but never backing down from God. Always praying in the moment, never cheating opportunity, but never rushing to father it.”  I think he wanted something more. I am not brilliant. I have led my life listening to the advice of others. What possible insight into life have I ascertained?

Too Big Shoes

18/04/2012

Long black hair glistening as if washed everyday in fresh rain water flows down to the small of her back as jaded emerald eyes peer out with a cryptic innocence from beneath windswept bangs, emphasizing the jocund smile dancing across her lips.

Our eyes meet for a moment, and as she turns in a direction away I stare. Her diminutive, graceful presence with each step she takes, towards my heart,  is glorified by her form fitting dress of what my coarse knowledge of gentility can only presume is a fine Italian silk . My eyes follow, transfixed to the green – almost black in certain lights – fabric which is so thin it teeters from just a hair’s breadth of being transparent.

There’s a child at her hand, but the little furby  is unimportant. What matters is how her lightly tan skin glistens in the pale glow of the evening sun, as the cascading rays are prismed off the reflective surfaces of her dress; for woven into it are leaf-like patterns made from embroidery of seemingly silver threads, most obviously accenting her airy mass.

A smile traces itself upon my lips, curling at the corners as my gaze blessedly continues with its affixation. Just as I take my first steps to follow her, something repressingly tugs from the back of my mind. If I followed, what would society say? What would Queen Victoria think? What would Elizabeth feel? Society was composed of fools, and the good queen has been dead a hundred years, besides in the light of this denizen of heaven Elizabeth pales.  Humility after all, urges that I humbly accept what beauty the governing cosmos has seen fit to afford me.

With a whispered note of gratitude for the alignment of the celestial forms that rule my fate, I prepare myself to follow. Roughly I comb my matted hair with a calloused hand. Then by bringing my proletariat phalanges to my face, and breathing upon their cupped collective  to check my breath, I steel myself. With a nod of satisfaction, I move forward. Aiming my left foot with the precision of a sniper, I begin to touch the pavement before me,  when I lose my balance and trip.

Damn these too big shoes.

In Memory of Soni

10/04/2012

“I wrote this for an undying flame.” Kanak

–––

Nobody knows her real name, and I’ve never once heard her bother asking people to remember it. I think she likes her new name, prolly cause her real name is something hideous like Olga or Gladys. I know she’s new this year to our school, but its mad crazy how she got a nick name in less than 2 weeks. Damn hell, it took me three years of running track in middle school and two All–State records in my freshman year, to earn my name “The (Johnny) Rocket,” and let me tell you ma’am, I don’t just run fast. I rock it.

Have I thought about asking her out?

Is our school mascot a Mongoose?

Normally with any other girl I would just ask and receive, but with Soni somehow there is something… all I can say is… different. We get along and we even flirt  when we are running track every Wednesday. What’s pretty spiffy’s that she is the only one who can keep pace with me. She is a better sprinter than I am, which says a quite a whole lot. But when it comes to long distance running, not even she can keep up with me. The poor thing has to take breaks just so she can catch her breath. Personally she should just stick to sprinting. It’s her thing. Long distances are mine.

But even with all of this, there’s something about her that I just enjoy, and if I ask her out, it might go away. She’s like the only girl I’ve ever seen as a friend. And, its not cause she lacks in the fire department. Don’t get me wrong the girl is mad fly upstairs, downstairs, she gets all the stares, ya know what I’m saying? But somehow sadly

–––

They call her Soni – with an i – because Sony – with a y – is what she always carries. On Mondays a Sony Discman with Sony amplifying portable speakers for the cheer squad, Tuesdays a Sony portable radio for the current events club, Wednesdays a Sony sports stop watch for the track team, Thursdays a Sony Vaio laptop for the computer animations club, and Fridays a Sony digital camera for the yearbook club. There ought to be a reason why Soni joined such a vast array of clubs and there is more than probably a reason why yearbook is her favorite. But like any teen, with a virulent secret, the explanations are private and few may understand. This is not to say that Soni is treated as some sort of pariah or is a recluse. She simply has many interests yet sadly

–––

I am not sure what I mean to Soni. The first time my eyes fell upon her countenance in our computer animations club, I think I fell in love. Even if love is just an ephemeral emotional representation of our biological desires, I know she would make the perfect mate. You must understand my desires for her are not based on primal instincts. I as a paragon of homosapien sapiens am above such lustful carnalities. It is the whole package that lures me to Soni’s heavenly persona. Prior to Soni’s arrival in our Junior year of high school, I resigned myself to finding a mate that was only beautiful, upon the basis that I carried a surplus of intellectual aptitude for our subsequent offspring to still be elite in the academic realms. Yet Soni changed all that.

She defied every stereotype that should have restrained her. A cheerleader with beauty has brains and based on the rumors of her exploits on the track, brawns.   What had taken me three laborious years to learn under the tutelage of my greatest guru the internet, took her only the span of three Thursdays to learn from me. You should start remembering the name Peter Marcus , as now it will be written and ranked alongside the greatest minds to have ever existed fictitiously or really; Einstein, Yoda, the ChessMaster 9000, or even the father of gravity Newton, can all move one notch lower as I have bested the internet in an ability to convey information. Yet I still think that were it anyone but Soni my single greatest accomplishment to date would have yet – if never – come into fruition.

Do I plan on asking her out then?

Can Hydrogen have three neutrons?

Of course I have considered asking her. Yet, there is something… I at this moment lack the computational ability to put it specifically… just special about her.  At first I just thought she came to our club as part of some elaborate plot that the jocks might have put together as sort on an initiation. That’s why when the newest cheerleader showed up at our club meeting the first week of school, we kind of ignored her. I didn’t even bother to ask her name, and the rest of the club took to shunning her. The only notice she was offered was an occasional stare directed at her prominent anatomy –  as intelligent as we may be, we are adolescent men.  Yet despite the cold reception she still came up to me and asked if I’d teach her the basics of Flash applets. So I wrote her a note naming some websites and books she could try looking at; only to have her comment on how I wrote like a girl.

It was only when I looked up to see her jocular smile that I really saw her for the first time. Yet even with that, there’s something about her that I just enjoy, and if I ask her out, it might go away.  I really do want to ask Soni out, but she seems to be in a league all of her own. And sadly,

–––

I am at a loss for words how to describe the direct affect Miss Soni – as it seems she likes to be called – has.  In my several discussions with many of her peers I have come to a conclusion that the students of Saint Bab bal are overly enthusiastic with Miss Soni’s presence – more so than they have ever been with any other new student. I should mention that most of the male students who have had direct contact with Miss Soni, have become rather smitten with her and are indeed contemplating on asking her out. Though this is a heinous distraction, she does seem to compensate by having a positive impact on her peers in and outside of the classroom. Our yearbook club has never been so energetic! After lengthy discourses with her teachers, I have found that young Miss Soni is very capable and is a model student serving as a beacon to her peers to strive for academic and moral excellence. My only worry is that prolonged exposure to her infectious spirit combined with her inevitable absence, may lead to a greater sense of loss than just the average heart break. I cannot at this time – wanting the best in the sake of our other students – recommend Miss Soni’s continued attendance at our selective institution. I will however recommend that she be allowed to stay for another month, so that her situation may be furthered monitored. Sadly,

–––

I am not quite sure what to give Soni when I ask her to go out. Maybe I’ll give her a rocket so she can remember me. Like I have gotten to know her real good, and we have been hitting it off like Barry Bonds and a baseball. Last week I paid Paul Solomon forty bucks just so I could sit next to her in study hall. If I’m going to study something, it might as well be her.

At first all we talked about was about track, but then we started talking about other sports, like basketball. She says she likes the Heat, which I just don’t have the heart to tell her… how misplaced her choice is. She knows a lot about sports, which is pretty cool for a girl, and is really hot when she tries to tease me for liking one player over another. In the end I guess I’m glad I paid Paul to sit next her, but I think she might know that I did it. I wonder if since she is still talking to me if that means she digs me. Hell I dig  me, and I talk to me. So its for sure.

If she leaves would I be sad?

Not if we are like Colby and Shaq used to be and leave together.

I think I know what I am going to give Soni. Yesterday at track practice while she was taking her break I joined her and asked her about her dreams. She said something strange, like I am not allowed to dream or something. I wasn’t paying attention exactly as someone yelled my name, so I guess I misheard the joke. But when I asked her again, she said her only dream was that everyone’s dream come true. I think it was kinda lame like my little pony rip off or something but her eyes told me there was something serious about it and I was touched. I told her that my dream was to play football in the pros and she said she’d help me reach it. Do you think she wants to be with me till then? I happily,

–––

Dream.  A word Soni has never really put much faith in. It was the ninth Wednesday after starting her Junior year that someone had asked her about her dream. While sitting there on the bleachers taking her routine break after sprints, Johnny, or as everyone else called him, The Rocket approached her.  Soni found Johnny to be a friend with whom she could share her love of sports and track. During warm up drills she was always in pace with him and it made her proud that she could keep up with one of the finest athletes she had ever personally known – even if it was for only a small amount of time. So when he asked her what her dream was, she tried to tell him plainly that she couldn’t dream – not that she couldn’t undergo a REM cycle… that happened all the time – but that she couldn’t really possess a hope for the future. Coach Isaac had been yelling at Johnny and so when Johnny asked again, Soni told him something sappy, not wanting to waste time trying to explain everything. So when she said, “I dream for everyone’s dream to come true,” she realized that that could be her dream – even if it was a sappy one. Despite the pangs that tremored in her, she smiled her a smile. Still her smile was warm and happily,

–––

She accepted my invitation! I was surprised at first to be honest. I didn’t expect her to agree so readily. I think I have moved up from 6th level playa to a 7th level stud. I know its pretty crazy, like using the ideal gas law to calculate how fast a car is moving, but its true. I should have seen this coming though. When I was little I was scared  by my own greatness, so now I never stand in front of mirrors. I’m still amazed though that Soni would be willing to attend a comic convention. I was even more surprised when she had been moved up into my advanced astrophysics class – although knowing how smart she is I shouldn’t have been.  That class will forever be my favorite because it serves as the medium for where Soni and I could speak.

If she leaves would I be sad?

Not if I were affixed to her with a cohesive colligative so that we’d leave together.

Going to the convention wasn’t exactly like a date since the rest of the computer animation club was going to be there, but the fact that Soni agreed to come with me in my mom’s car was totally sweet raised to the awsometh power.  On the way we talked about a lot of stuff. I chided – I’d like to think of it as flirting – her about how the batman from the dark knight series could totally take on spiderman, but she innocently disagreed. My mom did kind of embarrass me when she asked Soni what her future intentions were – I had even asked my dear mother to remain silent… the nerve! Soni surprised me by saying that she didn’t really have any intentions, that she just wanted to live everyday learning and being happy. Soni then asked me what I intended to do with my life, and I told her I wanted to be a leading animator for movies and such. She then told me with – what I can only say is the most beautiful smile – that she would help me get there. The rest of the time went by smoothly and Soni was never far from my side. Happily,

–––

I can say that the impact Miss Soni is having on the other students is very profound. She has taken to personally helping all those who seek her help and has worked with many students on their academic, social, and extracurricular endeavors. In such a short amount of time she has grossed a great deal of change, and the students have taken to working at fulfilling their dreams. Her spirit has positively infected the school now and everyone chants her name as if she was an angel among men. There are whispers of heresy that claim she is an Angel of Perfection gifted by the Lord himself. Though her efforts have affected many on a grand scale, she is still but a mortal being, like us all, and should know her place. I cannot recommend her staying in this school much longer. If she remains until her death, there may be adverse affects and the students upon learning of her demise may become disheartened in life and lose focus on the goals she has helped them aim for. It is best for her, and for the students, if she is removed. I can only allow her to remain till the end of the current semester, but no longer. Do realize even in this I am being generous.

With great sorrow,

–––

Soni lamented the news of her dismissal from the one place she truly had ever felt alive. For two years she had struggled with the knowledge that she was bound to die due to the illness that had taken her body. It was a miracle she had lasted as long as she had. And now, when she finally had friends, and so many at that, she was to be torn away from it all. Her only solace was that she had helped her friends focus on their dreams. There was still more to be done. Johnny needed to work on his times for running 100 meters, and Peter still hadn’t mastered mutli focal movements of three dimensional objects using java. And there was the yearbook, the one place where she could stamp her existence in permanence and even that would be taken away. If only the school, if only God would give her more time. Then she could make her dream come true. Was it stupid for her to dream? With great sorrow,

–––

Peter placed the rose atop the grave. All around him there was a mystifying stillness in the air, one only she could bring. It had been seven years already and yet every year on this day he came back to thank her. Perhaps he could have made it as a successful animator without her help, but he doubted that. Without her his single greatest accomplishment to date would have yet – if never – come into fruition. He smiled at that thought. Not because it was comforting, but because it was about her. His Soni – with an  i. With great sorrow,

–––

He turned away from the grave after placing his rose. There had already been one placed before his, like there was every year. The Rocket wasn’t sure who placed the rose but he knew it was someone like him. Here it was ten years after his Soni – with an i – ‘s death and he was considered one of the best football players in NFL history. He had set a record for running a 100 yard kickoff return, and it was because of her. He smiled at her memory. He never liked looking at her grave. It reminded him of what he never got to know until it was too late.

–––

Soni rested deep beneath the earth, a fallen angel. Not fallen from grace, never would she be considered by anyone who knew her story to have fallen from grace. No she was just a fallen soldier in the quest for actualized dreams. Tis no wonder then why her tomb stone read:

Here lies Gabby “Soni” Seraphina

December 21st, 1986 – October 8th, 2005

A beloved Daughter, Student, and Angel

–––

When she happily looked back, she could only sigh sadly with a great sorrow.  Etched into the stone in tiny almost untraceable letters just below the word angel, were words The Rocket had etched in just days after the funeral, “The dreamer,” and below that, she stared in surprise, for something she hadn’t noticed before was next to it a bit fainter and in a girl’s hand, “who makes everyone’s dream come true.”

Owed To a Rat

06/04/2012

Dearest Sir to whom I’m indebted,

Though my course of actions were justified to the fullest moral extent – regardless their merit in the court of law – I feel it (as does our settlement agreement) an absolute necessity to apologize for my actions. Before you proceed to the bank with the reparations of Seven Hundred and Fifty Two dollars and Twenty Three cents for the “brutal and heinous mutilation,” of your highly esteemed rat (enclosed in the form of a check herein), I ask that you allow me the opportunity to entreat you to my recollections of the event in question, in hopes to gain your understanding and sympathy for that ever so apocalyptic day.

When my party of eleven arrived in an angel white stretch limousine at the evening hour of seven to your establishment, there was a great bulging of eyes (often associated by medical practitioners as a symptom of Quasielastic Shock). Of course some of this bulging of eyes could have stemmed from a bit of intoxication and inebriation, but I assure you I was neither (if you recall the police report stated my blood alcohol level was at a .01, which despite the laws of science I insist was the unfortunate result of timing. Just prior to the analysis you see, I had one of those mouth refreshing Listerine strips. I assure you). Regardless, the faces of my companions could have been carved from Play Dough, for each of their ears was split from cheek to cheek with the sharpest, happiest and most enthusiastic of smiles. Our angelic stretch limousine became a tool of legend, garnered from the depths of H. G. Wells’s mind, for it brought us to Past’s door. Where better after all to host a surprise 21st birthday party than the place where “A kid can be a kid?”

Let me assure you, that our five hundred and sixty two dollars and fourteen cents were well spent. The entertainment of your facility is enough to drive any child wild, and being but over–grown children, your facility drove us into a frenzy – matched only by the feeding habits of the omnivorous Amazonian piranha. After my party ascertained much satiation from the exotic and exquisite Italian fast food and fruit punch, along with the vast array of token ridding ticket games; it was deemed time for your entertainment’s finale. And, since such a finale is a spectacle only the gods of the many heavens – and hells – ought to behold, we mere mortals eagerly fell upon our designated table (the report’s statement that we fell upon the five year old’s table is ludicrous) with much haste and monk like reverence.

It was during this finale that your mascot approached our table and during the – once innocent – happy birthday song took a most active interest in the possessor of my adoration. I can safely say her – my possessor’s – curves fall in all the right places; and this facet led the rat’s eyes to become fixed first upon her countenance and more importantly upon her other-worldly assets. I humbly, at the time, let such warranted attentions pass my notice. I myself have been a slave to her beauty for many a committed year. Yet, when the vile rodent’s paw moved towards her derriere, and once there remained to assess its worth; I cannot say I sat idle for much longer. A call to arms was placed before me. Though the enchantress of my adulations gave the gesture a most heartfelt and sincere sounding laugh, there was something your cameras failed to notice, a mountain of dishonor carefully sheathed in her voice. There was a fiery volcano in her emerald eyes, which upon countenancing her assailant became jaded. Being the sole witness to this affront, I stole from my seat and demanded the rat apologize for the ill placement of his paw. He clearly admitted his fault by stating (and I quote), “She knows she enjoyed it.”

I have never heard such ill fodder – or such a poor pick up line – as this from any man, mind you one in a rat costume, in my score years of existence. In an attempt to restore my lady’s honor, I took to aggressive action. Using the ever cliché One Two, which I learned from Will Smith’s performance in Ali, I began to pummel the perverted rodent into road kill. My time as a rodent exterminator was short lived however, as two of the rat’s body guards appeared, Pirate Pete – he looked to be a Pete – and some juiced up Pink Bunny.

Chuckee’s (the rat’s) two cronies opted to engage in the brawl instead of dissipating it; and quickly I found my arms restrained by the both of them. With a loud cry your rat, a bottom feeder of the evolutionary ladder, began to place blow after blow upon my weakening abdomen until my constitution gave way, and I was on my knees. Hollers and shrieks ran out from the nearby crowd of children, most cheering their idol, others – the supposed adults in the crowd – chanting in practiced unison the name of another psychotic homicidal mouse (Jerry). Those henchmen who were not costumed for battle held the crowd back and mercilessly watched as I was now publicly being flogged by the venomous Rat and his fuzz barbed tail.

Gathering what strength remained in the remnants of my shattered self-esteem and body, I made my move to stand. Ironically, I gripped the two stooges who held me in place, as pillaric support and rose on shaking knees. All this effort waned, so I could spit a mass of regurgitated fruit punch upon the rat’s fake plastic eye (causing the stain you so fervently demanded I pay for). My defiance of the Children Entertainment Franchise King did not end there however. With the swiftness of two charging Pumas– I know it isn’t humble to admit this but even you acknowledged the ferocity captured by the security camera in your deposition – I stepped back and swung my captors towards each other. With my two captor’s dazed, and Chuckee awe-struck, I threw a vengeful punch towards Pirate Pete.

Dear Sir, it was not my will to decapitate the pirate, but rather the will of the universe – upon which the fundamentals of quantum theory state I hold no control. Much like a chicken in this state, the decapitated body of Pirate Pete began to run in circles. Unsightly as this was, the headless swashbuckler ignorant to the psychological trauma he was inflicting upon the children, began bellowing for 9–1–1 to be called. It was only then that I truly “cackled” for the first time that night – my previous, other supposed, “cackles,” as your lawyer called it, were simply grunts of pain.

In all of the commotion caused by Pete – you’re not much of a pirate without a head or hat I suppose – I had lost track of the Pink Bunny, who was now vigorously hopping towards the nearest phone. Chuckee, began to vehemently curse my existence – ignoring and semblance of dignity – and swore upon his pity worthy grandmother’s grave that he would make me regret the day my mother laid eyes upon my father. I am not quite sure why I lifted a nearby chair and threw it at the Pink Bunny, or why I rattled off some inane put-down regarding Chuckee’s mother’s ignorance of Tiger Woods and the geographical nomenclature of India; I just did. Of course, I needn’t have wasted breath to announce the latter, for considering Chuckee is a human–rat his mother couldn’t have been that smart to begin with. In either case, Chuckee took the affront so harshly that he rushed at me yet again. In his rage, he was most careless, and I was able to do to his head what I had just done to Pete’s. Stepping atop Chuckee’s fallen head, I smiled at his floundering body. In retrospect, this probably wasn’t the best position to be in when the cops arrived.

Since I am not allowed to perpetuate the idea that I am right (Although my lawyer did confide I am perfectly capable of feeling the like), I must apologize. So, I am sorry.

With enough sincerity to fill the seven seas twice,

Kanak M G