three in the morning productions

to err is

out of the blue

|) i wanna talk to you. i heard something disturbing about you
|< (laugh) anything unusual?
|) you cut
|< ...
|) is that true?
|< yes or no, why should it matter
|) well it does, but you're not even denying it
|< i'm not even acknowledging it
|) hey, i wanna to talk to you about this. it's not right--
|< you have no right! who are you to judge? you know what, this is not up for discussion

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Saturday, I was homeless for a night. My room had been taken over by another batch of my parents visitors (a missionary, his wife, and daughter). Which didn't bother me so much. Although don't mistake, I've not suddenly changed for better, only a little more complacent. Anyway I was glad to spend the night at Jemima's. And it wasn't that I was rude throughout the whole affair. But I could have been more... attentive... warmer... certainly kinder.

So this morning, the wife was washing the dishes, and yes, I thanked her and uttered my "Oh gosh, you don't have to--!" she smiled and turned to thank me instead, for being so gracious and kind--not true, not true. I replied with, "ahh, it was no problem at all" and felt ashamed. On my way out the door, I bade them goodbye and a safe trip to their next destination, which I remember Ohio being mentioned on the by, and gave no more thought of it.

But on my return from school, my father opened a chat--one of those rare things you know, and mostly all of it his talking. Seated at the dining table, listening to an adulation of the recently stayed family, but happier still to fork mouthfuls of spag, I didn't mind that he should praise the girl's beautiful voice (classical, operatic even! with a prize-winning vibrado). His aim I had already guessed from afar. "But the most important thing," and here he gave an assertive nod, "is that she's obedient to her parents." I bounced my chin, smiling and hearty in twisting the fork. "You may laugh, but she is a true blessing to her parents (unlike you). She has many suitors (unlike you) and it's no wonder. She's classy (unlike you). You couldn't even guess that she lives in the Smoky Mountains."
That was what got me.
And seeing the lapse in my mock-content-to-chew occupation, he paused for effect, then feigned a scruple, "You know what the Smoky Mountains in the Philippines are, right? One of the biggest landfills in the world. That's where their mission is. She won those singing contests and used the money to buy gifts for the children." I think I choked. But he went on, "It's sad-- starving children with big bellies. He (the missionary) told me all about it, but you were just too eager to get away to listen to their story." For a while now I have been fooling with the idea of writing a tale on the evils of globalization, especially in my native country--a remote evil, but nevertheless a potential crusade for the hollowness in me to simulate a passion for.

"But my admiration lies in his children, who are truly a blessing from God (unlike my own--a curse, a curse upon me). And he is such a simple man. That is what is I most admire about him." I raised a brow to this, "If this simple man is so wonderful, then why did he slander you?"
"What are you talking about--" It took only the puzzled look on my father's face for me to immediately realize my blunder, but I chose to play on "But didn't he talk--with that other man--" "Who--?" "The one who talked about you behind your back--" "You mean--?" "Religious politics--" "No, that was--" "You mean--" "Yes," and he gave it a thought and then laughed, "But now that you mention it, they do look somewhat alike." I insisted, "You mean, you mean--I mistook him for that--the other-- the bad one?" Because I did. And thus the main cause for my cold reception to the man and his family, his wonderful wonderful family. All that time, I had asked how my father could house a backbiter and fraud? But he wasn't the one I mistook him to be after all.
Leaving much to my regret.

God. I am a monster.

11.19.02 - 12:08 a.m.

	to err is out of the blue \|) i wanna talk to you. i heard something disturbing about you \|< (laugh) anything unusual? \|) you cut \|< ... \|) is that true? \|< yes or no, why should it matter \|) well it does, but you're not even denying it \|< i'm not even acknowledging it \|) hey, i wanna to talk to you about this. it's not right-- \|< you have no right! who are you to judge? you know what, this is not up for discussion ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Saturday, I was homeless for a night. My room had been taken over by another batch of my parents visitors (a missionary, his wife, and daughter). Which didn't bother me so much. Although don't mistake, I've not suddenly changed for better, only a little more complacent. Anyway I was glad to spend the night at Jemima's. And it wasn't that I was rude throughout the whole affair. But I could have been more... attentive... warmer... certainly kinder. So this morning, the wife was washing the dishes, and yes, I thanked her and uttered my "Oh gosh, you don't have to--!" she smiled and turned to thank me instead, for being so gracious and kind--not true, not true. I replied with, "ahh, it was no problem at all" and felt ashamed. On my way out the door, I bade them goodbye and a safe trip to their next destination, which I remember Ohio being mentioned on the by, and gave no more thought of it. But on my return from school, my father opened a chat--one of those rare things you know, and mostly all of it his talking. Seated at the dining table, listening to an adulation of the recently stayed family, but happier still to fork mouthfuls of spag, I didn't mind that he should praise the girl's beautiful voice (classical, operatic even! with a prize-winning vibrado). His aim I had already guessed from afar. "But the most important thing," and here he gave an assertive nod, "is that she's obedient to her parents." I bounced my chin, smiling and hearty in twisting the fork. "You may laugh, but she is a true blessing to her parents (unlike you). She has many suitors (unlike you) and it's no wonder. She's classy (unlike you). You couldn't even guess that she lives in the Smoky Mountains." That was what got me. And seeing the lapse in my mock-content-to-chew occupation, he paused for effect, then feigned a scruple, "You know what the Smoky Mountains in the Philippines are, right? One of the biggest landfills in the world. That's where their mission is. She won those singing contests and used the money to buy gifts for the children." I think I choked. But he went on, "It's sad-- starving children with big bellies. He (the missionary) told me all about it, but you were just too eager to get away to listen to their story." For a while now I have been fooling with the idea of writing a tale on the evils of globalization, especially in my native country--a remote evil, but nevertheless a potential crusade for the hollowness in me to simulate a passion for. "But my admiration lies in his children, who are truly a blessing from God (unlike my own--a curse, a curse upon me). And he is such a simple man. That is what is I most admire about him." I raised a brow to this, "If this simple man is so wonderful, then why did he slander you?" "What are you talking about--" It took only the puzzled look on my father's face for me to immediately realize my blunder, but I chose to play on "But didn't he talk--with that other man--" "Who--?" "The one who talked about you behind your back--" "You mean--?" "Religious politics--" "No, that was--" "You mean--" "Yes," and he gave it a thought and then laughed, "But now that you mention it, they do look somewhat alike." I insisted, "You mean, you mean--I mistook him for that--the other-- the bad one?" Because I did. And thus the main cause for my cold reception to the man and his family, his wonderful wonderful family. All that time, I had asked how my father could house a backbiter and fraud? But he wasn't the one I mistook him to be after all. Leaving much to my regret. God. I am a monster. 11.19.02 - 12:08 a.m.