Tears of Blood: Blue as me

“My grief lies all within, and these external manners of lament are merely shadows to the unseen grief that swells with silence in the tortured soul” W.S

“Time heals griefs and quarrels, for we change and are no longer the same persons” Pascal


Ask binlerce defa olur. “Love dies a thousand times.” Many a writers have so exquisitely detailed the pain of loss. Would we even have words to describe the pain had it not been for the ability of these writers to tell the truth in such an unabashed manner – all the while making it sound so beautiful? Perhaps there is no greater agony in life, save the loss of one’s health, than the agony of loss. The stages of grievance vary from one person to the next, but grievance follows a similar pattern. First comes, shock. This is when you find yourself acting completely out of character, a temporary case of irrationality, insanity ensues. Then comes denial. You expect to have the same routine i.e. receive emails or calls at the times you used to from your X. You delude yourself into thinking it is just a temporary stage and all will be good in a few days, weeks or even months. ‘All is good’ you reassure yourself, holding yourself tight..It is just a nightmare that has come too close to reality. A vivid one at that. We all have those. If you have already been through a major breakup before, however, you might skip this stage. Then a thought will strike you with unprecedented force: Life sucks. Thoughts of suicide might (or not) surge beneath that callous, stoic surface. But most importantly, you’ll come to a weary acceptance that this is as good as life gets. If you are a lucky soul on this earth and are surrounded with a nice cushion of family and friends, they might be able to convince you that a session or two with a shrink is in order. But if you are a member of the minority club of loners, then this will stage will lurk around in dark corners of your psyche for days on end. Bills will sit unpaid in your inbox. Some polished from your former life and some unpolished queries will hunker in the ‘queries’ folder, screaming to be be put to use. Everyone and everything will feel ephemeral, transitory, taking on surreal qualities. What you were most attached to, what gave a warm and fuzzy feeling will take on an ominous meaning. Think household pets. They will irritate you with that l’air of detachment. How could the suffering not be infectious?

You, the reader, might be wondering how came to dissect the architecture of grief so well. Psychology courses in college? Hardly, that was more than 15 years ago. It was October six years ago; fall was drifting away into an unbearable chill. I was at the end of my twenty-nineth year on the planet, and was living in the capital of murder, trying to support myself as an adjunct lecturer and teaching English to a bunch of bourgeoisie weasels from Latin America – taking part in the kind of urban life may 20 somethings find themselves in. Six years on, I still recall the heartache of discovering that he, who had been my rock, my crutch in a world I found intolerably cold, whom I thought would be a permanent fixture in my life had another life on the side. Beads of blood sweat draping my forehead, heart galloping at 200 miles, I read those carefully typed few words in his email box: “Bu gece maximumdayim” read the email. From a 19 year old.

Perhaps the greatest agony of this is the unraveling of the past before your eyes. Every heartache takes you back to the first piercing of feelings of loneliness preceded by abandonment in childhood. One by one, you relive those agonizing moments of abandonment at your most vulnerable stage. Then it strikes you that it is not just the loss of a person that you’re bleeding over, but the loss of an entire future. If future is an infinite succession of presents, then my present was my future. Dreams, goals come crumbling down at the mercy of a gigantic crane that is the dissolution of a marriage.

Then I am reminded of a passage from one of Mary Sarton’s books. Think of trees, she said, and how simply they let go, let fall the riches of a season. How without the tentacles of grief, they can let go of the brilliantly coloured leaves and sink deep into their roots for rejuvenation and sleep. “... Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for long, not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go."

How I wish to be a tree now.

From Derrick Jackson, columnist for the Boston Globe, in yesterday's paper:'

'All we are left with is our aspirations in a game where the average share of the American dream is being spoiled. The Institute for Policy Studies and United for a Fair Economy, the two liberal think tanks that annually chart the gap between CEOs and workers, currently list the gap at 431-to-1, or $11.8 million to $27,460. That compares with a gap of 107-to-1 in 1990. If salaries of the average worker had kept up with that of a CEO, he or she would be making $110,136. Had the minimum wage risen at the same pace as CEO compensation, it would stand today at $23.01. The federal minimum wage of $5.15 has not risen since 1997.more....

In 1980, the gap was only 42-to-1. Where the spoils go are quite clear. According to 2005 federal data from the Congressional Budget Office, the share of America's income that went to the highest 20 percent of households increased from 45.5 percent in 1979 to 52.2 percent in 2003. The remaining 80 percent of American households all saw their share of the nation's income drop.''The higher you go in that top 20 percent, the more the rise in their share of the income. The top 1 percent of Americans saw their share of America's income zoom from 9.3 percent in the last quarter century to 14.3 percent. The top 10 percent saw their share go from 30.5 percent to 37.2 percent.''How [Treasury Secretary John] Snow thinks that 10 percent of Americans holding 37 percent of the income represents a sharing of the spoils is checkout-counter economics. His claim falls especially short considering that 46 of the nation's 275 largest companies, according to the Institute for Policy Studies, the United for a Fair Economy, and another liberal think-tank, Citizens for Tax Justice, paid no federal income tax in 2003. Eighty-two of the largest 275 companies paid no federal income tax at some point during 2001-2003 as the current President Bush cut taxes for the wealthy.''

...and the trend shall continue insofar as Americans continue to drown their miseries in the bible, and go on murderous rampages, blaming their fellow socio-economic class members for their dire predicaments. A truly tragic country with a disastorous future for the 'little guy.'

The expatriate life: rewarding or isolating?

Judging from my last post, I must be in the third phase of my expatriate existence. Anger with the host country. A desire to change the culture. As I was pounding the running machine for a good 45 minutes today in my every day goal of registering at least 4 kilometers on the meter, I found myself getting worked up over the sheer dearth of gyms here. Unless you live in the hotspots, otherwise known as Barcelona or Madrid, you are pretty much devoid of a gym culture. So, if you were a kickboxing or salsa aerobics nut in the U.S., as I was, be forewarned that you might have to put all that to rest upon your arrival in 'sunny Spain.'

Ironically though, la gente aqui are far thinner than their American counterparts. I can count the number of crypto-human landwhales I've seen waddle down the streets with one hand - a sight that was all too common at every nook and cranny in the U.S. The next article I'll be tackling will actually be touching on this very topic. Why are Europeans thinner than Americans? Is it the food? Better sex lives? Safe streets or is it that they are not as lonesome as Americans are? Americans are a sad bunch - my heart sinks everytime I think of the country I was born in. I mean, where else on this planet would an 80 year old cashier desperately attempt to light up a conversation with you. Before you can say 'thank you ma'am,' and effect your flee from the supermarket, you know all about her cousin martha who is popping her third kid out - on my big green ones of course. An introverted misanthrope, maintaing conversations with complete supermarket strangers was next to pulling teeth in terms of pain.

At any rate, back to my host country. It has been a challenge making friends in this land of the ultra-social. Cafes are brimming with people at all hours of the day, but you won't see my pretty face amongts the loquacious gatherings of homo sapiens. No sirey, bob. Language barriers are too immense to overcome. I have two options here both of which are not feasible at this time. 1) Hunt, yes hunt, not 'look for' natives of the English language, because English speakers are as rare as a snowflake in mid-summer in this provential, conservative town or 2) Undertake a massive study in the many nuances and intricacies of the Spanish language - verbs and all. Ouch, those verbs hurt. I wish I could say as a bi-lingual, cultivated individual who has experienced an array of cultures, I am motivated to learn the language. Sadly, that is not the case; my body rejects it. I have never been one to take a liking for the sound of Spanish. French, yes - I can devour it in one sitting. Send me the teacher. German, yes- even if it is to understand the lyrics of Rammenstein. A time will come, however, where I'll have to muster up enough energy and motivation to learn it. That time is not now though - it will have to wait. First things first - the thousands of dollars of debt incurred from medical expenses from the land of 'the free and brave' will have to be paid in full...And for that I'll have to keep writing until all ten of these fingers are the buffest parts of my body. Thanks for doing that to me U.S!

Spaniards and their casas

I guess I've already been here long enough to despise and resent its people. I wish somebody would expain to me why these people are so hell bent on repairing every inch of their dwelling.

Sick at home for the second week from a severe case of allergies, I've had to put up with the little tart next door and her smelly hubby repair their fucking bathroom. What is next - the balcony? Or who knows, maybe they will build the world's first teracce (sp?) on the second floor. This is far from an isolated incident and is indicative of a pattern I've been observing since my arrival here. Walk through any of these narrow streets and you'll be hard pressed to find one without the relentless drone of a drill, or a hammer, or a crane. The skyline - of any city, mind you - is bristling with the ubitiqous crane. Really, it should be on their fucking flag.

Ask any of my students what they've been up to lately, and the response will be something about their casa - they are either buying one or repairing one.

I wonder if any of these people know their way to the library. Seriously people, get a book. Get a life.

Hola

It has been a while since I visited this cozy little spot in cyberspace. Been so busy with the "real" writing that I've had no time for leisurely writing - if there is such a thing....Writing is always a painful, ardous task. But some of us simply could not go on living without it. It has a healing power. I think I would spontaneouly (sp?) combust and sprinkle, much like dust, into a thousand pieces if I did not keep at this.
It is an alluring, addictive drug this thing called writing.

I've managed to sell all my queries (well, save one) since the last time I posted. Indeed, my patience is paying off. How many times, though, I just wanted to throw my hands in the air and quit! The "evil" voices in my head incessantly admonishing me, telling me to get a real job.
Then there is the whisper-like voices telling me to keep going...There can be no happiness if one's vocation does not suit one's passion.. No, it was not I who uttered those words - I believe it was Albert Camus.

Until next time,
Me