It's easy to see that if I had just married my wife and we didn't have a kid, she wouldn't be acting quite like she does today. And even if she did, and if no amount of effort from me got her to change, I could divorce her at any time and get away (relatively) scot free.
So it would also be easy to blame my son for keeping me in this marriage. But in all honesty, being with my son is a good thing; I enjoy my time with him, and I love him. If I had the choice to go back in time and stop myself from impregnating my girlfriend, I wouldn't do it, knowing that my son either wouldn't have a chance at life, or that he would be born to other parents that wouldn't take care of him as well as I do. I would throw myself on that grenade again to care for my son: he listens to me, he enjoys doing things that I enjoy doing, and he's a good kid because I'm his father, and I keep a firm eye on him at all times.
Things are different between my wife and I: when we have time together, she seldom follows my suggestions. She enjoys doing things with me, when she isn't tired or busy, which is most of the time. And she's a good woman, when she isn't nagging me or complaining. But the only reason she became the woman she is now is because marriage made our lives so busy, complicated and full of chores, errands, work, babysitting and the like, that problems just completely overshadowed our once fun relationship. Unlike the time before I got married, I have a hundred things to do every day for the sake of my family, and there's nothing I can do to improve my personal life:
If I move my wife's mother into our house to save several hundred dollars a month in old lady support payments, then I have to deal with her being in my house and bossing me around 24/7.
If I tell my mother-in-law to stop butting into my life, she dumps on my wife, my wife gets upset, then I have to fix everything.
If I hire a housekeeper to take care of the chores that wait for me every night, I won't have enough money to pay bills.
If I set aside one day of the week as a "Don't Bother Daddy" day so I can play video games all day or something, my wife will get upset that she has to take care of chores and watch our son all day, then she'll dump her nonsense on me.
Before I got married, I lived every day as an optimistic, happy man. ALL of them. There was only one time in those six months where things went so wrong that I felt angry, but I felt better in an hour because I was just that strong and self-reliant. But when I married, what once was a life of free-spirited fun and adventure became one of just trying to stay afloat through all the problems of marriage, problems that didn't even exist until my wife and I tied the knot.
I know this post might sound confusing, like I'm trying to find someone to blame for all my problems, and I can't quite put my finger on who. And I can't repeat this enough: it's none of their faults. Marriage is what turned everyone into people that they're not. In fact, the only person I blame is me, the one who should have re-evaluated his depressed boy dream to marry, the one who should have gotten a vasectomy, or at the very least the one who should have used two forms of birth control instead of one.
I wouldn't be married now if I didn't have my son. But I don't blame him, or my wife or her family. But they are the sources of my near-poverty and my dreams being ground into the dust. But they aren't to blame. It's complicated, so let me try to put this all a little more simply:
Marriage sucks. Children are a multiplier.
Just being married sucks, and a divorce can fix it in no time.
Just having children makes life multiple times more busy, fun, happy, tiring, aggravating or interesting. Whatever you're feeling is entirely dependent on how you are guiding your life, and the life of your child.
But put them together, and you have a life that sucks... multiple times over. And there's nothing you can do about it, and there's no way out.
If I were to be born again as a new man, and I had the chance to date my wife once more, I would do it. Marriage hasn't just taken my freedom, time, strength, money and dreams from me; it's stolen my girlfriend, too. The girl I dated in 2007 is not the same person as the woman I'm married to now, and it's not because she was lying to me before. It's because marriage has placed so many problems and pressures upon the both of us, that she and I are now too busy or working too hard to do the things that used to make us happy. I would date her again, to know her without all of these pointless issues that keep popping up in a married life.
Second and finally, if I were given the choice to have another kid in another life, I would find a time to do it. I'd probably wait until I was in my 40s before I went through with it, and I wouldn't help birth one; then I'd just be stuck in the same situation I'm in now. But if I had the absolute choice on when to start and whether I wanted to do it, I would definitely adopt a child or two or use a surrogate mother and be a single parent.
Raising children is a lot easier than people make it out to be. The reason people say it's so difficult is because of a contradiction that arises while being married with kids:
1. To be an excellent parent, one or both of the two people in a marriage must be in charge. Otherwise, the child will not understand where their boundaries are and will run roughshod over everyone around them.
2. To have an excellent marriage, one or both of the two married people must be a follower. Otherwise, the two spouses end up fighting all the time about marriage and child rearing decisions.
So unless I'm:
- In a marriage where my wife happily does everything I ask her to (No),
- In a marriage where I happily do everything I'm told (No),
- My dreams, goals and decisions over my own life mean absolutely nothing to me so I don't feel unhappy about giving them up (No), or
- I don't have dreams, so marriage has nothing to take from me in the first place and I can't regret giving up something I never had (No)...
... I end up in the situation that I'm in now.
Raising children is easy when you are a powerful presence in your kid's life, where they feel 95% love for the loving parent you usually are, and 5% fear for the person you become when they seriously misbehave, and I am that kind of person. Marriage is easy when you just sit back and let your partner handle all the work, make all the decisions and tell you how to live your life, and I am not that kind of person.
Now put these two things together: I'm a father who is loved, respected and looked up to by his son, but who gets nagged and ordered around by his wife like a child. I work six to seven days a week and make almost three times the amount of money that my wife does, but almost none of it goes to me personally. I've been through hell and back in my youth and have become a powerful, determined man as a result, and I use that strength to clean my apartment.
Marriage is a mess of contradictions. The greatest source of happiness I have in life is my son, but his existence keeps me miserably married. My wife was an excellent girlfriend that I always looked forward to seeing, and after we took vows to be with one another for the rest of our lives, I never again knew true happiness. I have all the strength needed, and more, to make myself happy and raise my son well, but strength is the last thing I'm allowed to use as a married man.
Marriage sucks. Children are a multiplier.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Then and Now 22 - Skate Museums
Then and Now 22 - Skate Museums
Time: Mid-2007, single and at the hostel.
I met Tina on the internet, like a lot of the other people I hung out with before I got married. Our first meeting was at the main station, and when she walked up to me, I could tell from her averted eyes and smile that she was incredibly shy. When we started to talk, and she basically just let me take command of the conversation while she listened, I knew I was right. She wasn't just shy, but almost paralyzed with fright. That wouldn't stand with me, because she had nothing to fear from the man I was, I wanted to entertain her, and I wanted to make new friends. So I decided to take her to one of the local stops I wanted to go to, which was a skate park.
We talked quite a bit on the way, and as we did, I noticed that she really liked to walk on my left. Every time we turned a corner and I switched sides, she would slow down and go back to the same side every time. I asked her what was up, and she said she just always preferred it that way. I chuckled and said, "Cool," and let her take her usual spot.
The skate park was just a little place that skaters could go to to do their ollies, flips and all that other stuff I have no idea about, but when we got there, it looked incredibly run-down. The sides of the little park where people used to grind their boards were worn down, there were dead leaves in little piles here and there, and there was even a little grass growing in cracks in the floor. I looked around at the sad little sight for a little bit, cocked my head a little to the side and furrowed my brow with a bit of a half-cocked smile. And when I looked over at Tina, I saw that she was making a similar face. "Sorry about that," I said. Tina laughed a bit and said it wasn't a problem.
Then I looked past the skate park and saw a stadium. "Let's check that out," I proclaimed, and beckoned Tina to come after me. She smiled and obliged. We went through a decently-sized tunnel and onto the outskirts of the playing field, like we were players ready to go out and entertain the crowd. Unfortunately, the stadium was closed down, and whether for the season or for good, I don't know. It looked like it was made for soccer because I didn't see any evidence of goal posts or nets for football or tennis, and it didn't seem big enough for baseball.
I was about to suggest that she and I sneak in to go check out the field for ourselves, but at that moment, I caught a distant glimpse of a local man walking the tunnels that went around the stadium. It looked like he was wearing a uniform, so I got us out of there before we got yelled at.
"Well, that kind of sucked," I said to her. "Sorry to bore you. Let's go find someplace fun to hang out!" She smiled and said ok. In truth, I thought it was kind of fun to be exploring the pseudo-ruins of this town, but I know not everyone likes to go poking around old stuff like I do. So to try and entertain my travel guest better, I took my subway map out of my pocket and unfolded it for her to see. I pointed around the general area we were in, and showed her some of the places I hadn't seen yet. It didn't take much time for her to point out a park that was in walking distance, and soon, we were off.
On the way, we walked down some pretty wide roads that ran between a small forest on one side, and the shops and houses of the town on the other. Passing by several signs, I asked her how to say "The sign says" in the local language, in case I got lost and needed to ask someone. She told me, and I spent the next few minutes reading signs like a little kid and jokingly cheering my (sincere lack of) skill. She thought it was pretty funny.
The park had several people exercising near some stairs for an outdoor auditorium, and there was a calm fountain in the middle of the park. It was a great sight, and we were surrounded by trees, clean air, and just overall quiet away from the city's traffic. Tina took us over to a tiny building off in the corner, the place she wanted to show me: it was a memorial museum for a massacre that occurred in the country's history. When I got inside, the local lady who was running the place offered me a little audio device and an earphone. I don't know if it was an MP3 player or something, but it apparently used some kind of radio signal to tell where in the museum I was, then offered a translation of the exhibit I was looking at through the earpiece. It was all pretty complicated and I wanted to let Tina tell me what things said, but I politely took the thing and pocketed it anyway.
There were some old newspaper clippings, a couple of paintings, some sculptures and several other pieces of art and history detailing the event. I listened in interest to Tina telling me of how the massacre started over something trivial, and ended up with many deaths. After about an hour, we left the little museum, and I thanked her for showing me a little of her country's history. "Definitely a lot more interesting and important than that dumb skate park," I said. She smiled.
We took a little walk around the park, and talked about her studies at college, my time at the hostel, our personal plans for the future, and other small talk. She was still pretty shy so it was kind of hard to pull stuff out of her, but it was still a very relaxing time. After a bit, we found ourselves by a pond with another fountain in the middle. There were a few fish in the water, and there was a ring of flowers running the length of this beautiful little scene. Across the pond was a group of students from a local high school, no doubt there on some kind of field trip. I asked Tina if they were heading to the museum we had just visited, but she said no and pointed to another museum, a very large building a little off in the distance. "Wanna see it?" I asked with a smile on my face. She grinned slightly and quietly nodded.
It was a museum detailing the history of the indigenous people of this country, and contained all manner of artifacts. There were old tools, spearheads, reconstructed tribal wear, and even a few movies running on projectors showing descendants of the old peoples doing traditional activities in modern times. I didn't know anything about these people until that day, and I was very happy to know more about my new country.
Later, Tina and I went out and headed in some random direction to find something to do before she had to go home. We ended up wandering into a little market sandwiched between two very wide streets. It was so small that the shops were facing only a few feet away from one another, with only a little path between them to get through. People were bumping into one another left and right, to the point where I felt more like a pinball than a shopper. Tina and I didn't get anything from this little market, because she wanted to go get a sandwich from Subway instead. So we walked a few blocks over to one, had some sandwiches and a nice conversation, then I took her back to the main station to go home.
All of this comprised about three hours of time. I don't remember who I met up with next that day, maybe Nell or someone else, but this peaceful, exploratory time was just a small fraction of one day in the life of an unmarried man.
As for today...
I woke up at 5:00.
I played video games.
My wife and son woke up, so I turned off the computer.
I watched TV.
I ate lunch.
I took a nap.
I woke up.
I watched TV.
I took a nap.
I woke up.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I started a load of laundry.
I ate dinner.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I hung up wet laundry.
I watched internet movies with my son.
He fell asleep.
I played video games.
I slept.
Time: Mid-2007, single and at the hostel.
I met Tina on the internet, like a lot of the other people I hung out with before I got married. Our first meeting was at the main station, and when she walked up to me, I could tell from her averted eyes and smile that she was incredibly shy. When we started to talk, and she basically just let me take command of the conversation while she listened, I knew I was right. She wasn't just shy, but almost paralyzed with fright. That wouldn't stand with me, because she had nothing to fear from the man I was, I wanted to entertain her, and I wanted to make new friends. So I decided to take her to one of the local stops I wanted to go to, which was a skate park.
We talked quite a bit on the way, and as we did, I noticed that she really liked to walk on my left. Every time we turned a corner and I switched sides, she would slow down and go back to the same side every time. I asked her what was up, and she said she just always preferred it that way. I chuckled and said, "Cool," and let her take her usual spot.
The skate park was just a little place that skaters could go to to do their ollies, flips and all that other stuff I have no idea about, but when we got there, it looked incredibly run-down. The sides of the little park where people used to grind their boards were worn down, there were dead leaves in little piles here and there, and there was even a little grass growing in cracks in the floor. I looked around at the sad little sight for a little bit, cocked my head a little to the side and furrowed my brow with a bit of a half-cocked smile. And when I looked over at Tina, I saw that she was making a similar face. "Sorry about that," I said. Tina laughed a bit and said it wasn't a problem.
Then I looked past the skate park and saw a stadium. "Let's check that out," I proclaimed, and beckoned Tina to come after me. She smiled and obliged. We went through a decently-sized tunnel and onto the outskirts of the playing field, like we were players ready to go out and entertain the crowd. Unfortunately, the stadium was closed down, and whether for the season or for good, I don't know. It looked like it was made for soccer because I didn't see any evidence of goal posts or nets for football or tennis, and it didn't seem big enough for baseball.
I was about to suggest that she and I sneak in to go check out the field for ourselves, but at that moment, I caught a distant glimpse of a local man walking the tunnels that went around the stadium. It looked like he was wearing a uniform, so I got us out of there before we got yelled at.
"Well, that kind of sucked," I said to her. "Sorry to bore you. Let's go find someplace fun to hang out!" She smiled and said ok. In truth, I thought it was kind of fun to be exploring the pseudo-ruins of this town, but I know not everyone likes to go poking around old stuff like I do. So to try and entertain my travel guest better, I took my subway map out of my pocket and unfolded it for her to see. I pointed around the general area we were in, and showed her some of the places I hadn't seen yet. It didn't take much time for her to point out a park that was in walking distance, and soon, we were off.
On the way, we walked down some pretty wide roads that ran between a small forest on one side, and the shops and houses of the town on the other. Passing by several signs, I asked her how to say "The sign says" in the local language, in case I got lost and needed to ask someone. She told me, and I spent the next few minutes reading signs like a little kid and jokingly cheering my (sincere lack of) skill. She thought it was pretty funny.
The park had several people exercising near some stairs for an outdoor auditorium, and there was a calm fountain in the middle of the park. It was a great sight, and we were surrounded by trees, clean air, and just overall quiet away from the city's traffic. Tina took us over to a tiny building off in the corner, the place she wanted to show me: it was a memorial museum for a massacre that occurred in the country's history. When I got inside, the local lady who was running the place offered me a little audio device and an earphone. I don't know if it was an MP3 player or something, but it apparently used some kind of radio signal to tell where in the museum I was, then offered a translation of the exhibit I was looking at through the earpiece. It was all pretty complicated and I wanted to let Tina tell me what things said, but I politely took the thing and pocketed it anyway.
There were some old newspaper clippings, a couple of paintings, some sculptures and several other pieces of art and history detailing the event. I listened in interest to Tina telling me of how the massacre started over something trivial, and ended up with many deaths. After about an hour, we left the little museum, and I thanked her for showing me a little of her country's history. "Definitely a lot more interesting and important than that dumb skate park," I said. She smiled.
We took a little walk around the park, and talked about her studies at college, my time at the hostel, our personal plans for the future, and other small talk. She was still pretty shy so it was kind of hard to pull stuff out of her, but it was still a very relaxing time. After a bit, we found ourselves by a pond with another fountain in the middle. There were a few fish in the water, and there was a ring of flowers running the length of this beautiful little scene. Across the pond was a group of students from a local high school, no doubt there on some kind of field trip. I asked Tina if they were heading to the museum we had just visited, but she said no and pointed to another museum, a very large building a little off in the distance. "Wanna see it?" I asked with a smile on my face. She grinned slightly and quietly nodded.
It was a museum detailing the history of the indigenous people of this country, and contained all manner of artifacts. There were old tools, spearheads, reconstructed tribal wear, and even a few movies running on projectors showing descendants of the old peoples doing traditional activities in modern times. I didn't know anything about these people until that day, and I was very happy to know more about my new country.
Later, Tina and I went out and headed in some random direction to find something to do before she had to go home. We ended up wandering into a little market sandwiched between two very wide streets. It was so small that the shops were facing only a few feet away from one another, with only a little path between them to get through. People were bumping into one another left and right, to the point where I felt more like a pinball than a shopper. Tina and I didn't get anything from this little market, because she wanted to go get a sandwich from Subway instead. So we walked a few blocks over to one, had some sandwiches and a nice conversation, then I took her back to the main station to go home.
All of this comprised about three hours of time. I don't remember who I met up with next that day, maybe Nell or someone else, but this peaceful, exploratory time was just a small fraction of one day in the life of an unmarried man.
As for today...
I woke up at 5:00.
I played video games.
My wife and son woke up, so I turned off the computer.
I watched TV.
I ate lunch.
I took a nap.
I woke up.
I watched TV.
I took a nap.
I woke up.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I started a load of laundry.
I ate dinner.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I hung up wet laundry.
I watched internet movies with my son.
He fell asleep.
I played video games.
I slept.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Then and Now 21 - Man Time
Then and Now 21 - Man Time
Time: Mid-2007, at my bud's aunt's place.
When my two lost weeks had gone by, and my bud and I had stopped putting it off, we realized that it was time to start looking for work. He was definitely in the better position at that point, because if he found a job, he'd work for a while before going back to America. If he couldn't, our trip would be a vacation before he found a job back in the States. I, on the other hand, had come here to live and be my new self, so I had a lot more riding on our exploits here than he. I guess that explains why I got a really geeky haircut by buzzing my hair down to length 3 on all sides before I came here. Even worse, I brought a buttoned, long sleeve shirt and slacks for any future job interviews. My bud, of course, had only his jeans and T-shirts.
Our responsibilities were split right down the middle: my bud would find us work near his aunt's house, and if it didn't work out, I would find housing for us when we moved to the main city. And a few weeks after we both got here, he got wind of a job opening teaching kids a little bit across town. That evening, he and I dressed up and headed out to the job interview, and we took a taxi up there to be on time. Halfway there, he smirked and said, "I hope you remember the streets we've been turning on, because we're walking back." I snickered and half-heartedly started following landmarks so we could return on foot.
When we got there, we had plenty of time to spare, and there was still a little daylight to burn. So, my bud and I took a walk in a local park and did a little people watching. It was oddly decorated with some strange art pieces: there were several of them, and they were all a jumble of geometric shapes, curved bars and just random chaos. Some were fenced off, too, I guess to keep kids from running into the parts that were sticking out. After a few minutes, we headed to the place where we might have new jobs and a steady source of income.
Inside the little school, a local woman who spoke excellent English welcomed us in, and gave us a brief tour. I found the place oddly constructed: the classrooms seemed quite cramped, and every wall, except the one farthest away from the school's entrance, were made completely of either glass or plastic, allowing a full view into the rooms. It almost seemed like they were all zoo exhibits.
The boss called over one of the other foreign teachers to say hello. He was middle-aged, pudgy and bald, and his greeting was odd: he tried his best not to make eye contact with either me or my bud, and spoke mostly under his breath. At the time, I didn't have the experience of rude foreigners from when I was at the hostel and my apartment later. Later on, I got quite used to foreign men who looked at me with contempt or fear (I was competition for the jobs and women they wanted, and I was better than them), so in hindsight, this greeting was nothing special.
What surprised me was that after Then and Now 2, and even looking as geeky as I did, I had made such progress with my personal confidence that I actually had the first man, ever, to look at me unhappily as he compared himself to me. But I still felt bad for the guy, because I knew he was making an effort to say hello, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. So I thrust my hand out to shake his, and after my bud and I said our hellos to him, he left quickly.
A second foreign teacher came up and introduced himself, a taller guy with nice hair and a sharp nose. He was much more enthusiastic than the first guy, and greeted my bud and I heartily. He took over as tour guide and brought us to the classrooms, toy boxes and other stuff we needed to know if we taught there. Finally, when everything was done, the boss gave us her card, and my bud and I left to go home. On the way back, my bud told me that the pay was terrible compared to what we could do in the big city, and that we should probably just relax until it was time to move there. I trusted his judgement, and we continued on back to his aunt's place.
When we got back, the door to our room on the third floor was open, and the light was on. We walked in, and there was my bud's uncle, who I hadn't met until that moment. In just a muscle shirt and shorts, he quietly waved hello, and signalled for my bud and I to take a seat next to him. The TV was on, and he was watching baseball. I'm more of a baseball player than a baseball watcher, but I still happily had a seat next to my bud to check out the game. It was a very relaxing time, and I started to understand the appeal of baseball, when I used to see it as just a series of pop flies, caught outs, strikes, balls and commercials: it's about hanging with your friends and theirs, and enjoying a time of quiet excitement that can erupt at any time into cheers or jeers at an excellent hit or mistake.
After a short while, my bud's uncle saw a man come up to bat. In the local language, which I actually understood for once, he said, "Black people are really strong, aren't they?" I smiled nervously and exchanged glances with my bud, not knowing what to say. He and I laughed about it later, though. A little later, my bud's uncle left us, and my bud and I played some Guitar Hero before we went to bed.
As for today...
I woke up at 9:00 to my son throwing up on the bed.
I watched him while my wife got a load of laundry started.
We went to the doctor's office, then we went home.
My wife went to her mom's house.
I played cars with my son.
I surfed the net.
I took my son to the arcade and bought my wife a doll, then we went home.
I hung up wet laundry.
I ate lunch.
I played cars with my son.
He threw a screaming tantrum, so I lectured him.
I played video games.
My wife woke up and went to work.
My son woke up and threw another screaming tantrum, so I yelled at him.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I cooked and ate dinner.
I did the dishes.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I hung up wet laundry again.
I played video games.
I slept.
Time: Mid-2007, at my bud's aunt's place.
When my two lost weeks had gone by, and my bud and I had stopped putting it off, we realized that it was time to start looking for work. He was definitely in the better position at that point, because if he found a job, he'd work for a while before going back to America. If he couldn't, our trip would be a vacation before he found a job back in the States. I, on the other hand, had come here to live and be my new self, so I had a lot more riding on our exploits here than he. I guess that explains why I got a really geeky haircut by buzzing my hair down to length 3 on all sides before I came here. Even worse, I brought a buttoned, long sleeve shirt and slacks for any future job interviews. My bud, of course, had only his jeans and T-shirts.
Our responsibilities were split right down the middle: my bud would find us work near his aunt's house, and if it didn't work out, I would find housing for us when we moved to the main city. And a few weeks after we both got here, he got wind of a job opening teaching kids a little bit across town. That evening, he and I dressed up and headed out to the job interview, and we took a taxi up there to be on time. Halfway there, he smirked and said, "I hope you remember the streets we've been turning on, because we're walking back." I snickered and half-heartedly started following landmarks so we could return on foot.
When we got there, we had plenty of time to spare, and there was still a little daylight to burn. So, my bud and I took a walk in a local park and did a little people watching. It was oddly decorated with some strange art pieces: there were several of them, and they were all a jumble of geometric shapes, curved bars and just random chaos. Some were fenced off, too, I guess to keep kids from running into the parts that were sticking out. After a few minutes, we headed to the place where we might have new jobs and a steady source of income.
Inside the little school, a local woman who spoke excellent English welcomed us in, and gave us a brief tour. I found the place oddly constructed: the classrooms seemed quite cramped, and every wall, except the one farthest away from the school's entrance, were made completely of either glass or plastic, allowing a full view into the rooms. It almost seemed like they were all zoo exhibits.
The boss called over one of the other foreign teachers to say hello. He was middle-aged, pudgy and bald, and his greeting was odd: he tried his best not to make eye contact with either me or my bud, and spoke mostly under his breath. At the time, I didn't have the experience of rude foreigners from when I was at the hostel and my apartment later. Later on, I got quite used to foreign men who looked at me with contempt or fear (I was competition for the jobs and women they wanted, and I was better than them), so in hindsight, this greeting was nothing special.
What surprised me was that after Then and Now 2, and even looking as geeky as I did, I had made such progress with my personal confidence that I actually had the first man, ever, to look at me unhappily as he compared himself to me. But I still felt bad for the guy, because I knew he was making an effort to say hello, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. So I thrust my hand out to shake his, and after my bud and I said our hellos to him, he left quickly.
A second foreign teacher came up and introduced himself, a taller guy with nice hair and a sharp nose. He was much more enthusiastic than the first guy, and greeted my bud and I heartily. He took over as tour guide and brought us to the classrooms, toy boxes and other stuff we needed to know if we taught there. Finally, when everything was done, the boss gave us her card, and my bud and I left to go home. On the way back, my bud told me that the pay was terrible compared to what we could do in the big city, and that we should probably just relax until it was time to move there. I trusted his judgement, and we continued on back to his aunt's place.
When we got back, the door to our room on the third floor was open, and the light was on. We walked in, and there was my bud's uncle, who I hadn't met until that moment. In just a muscle shirt and shorts, he quietly waved hello, and signalled for my bud and I to take a seat next to him. The TV was on, and he was watching baseball. I'm more of a baseball player than a baseball watcher, but I still happily had a seat next to my bud to check out the game. It was a very relaxing time, and I started to understand the appeal of baseball, when I used to see it as just a series of pop flies, caught outs, strikes, balls and commercials: it's about hanging with your friends and theirs, and enjoying a time of quiet excitement that can erupt at any time into cheers or jeers at an excellent hit or mistake.
After a short while, my bud's uncle saw a man come up to bat. In the local language, which I actually understood for once, he said, "Black people are really strong, aren't they?" I smiled nervously and exchanged glances with my bud, not knowing what to say. He and I laughed about it later, though. A little later, my bud's uncle left us, and my bud and I played some Guitar Hero before we went to bed.
As for today...
I woke up at 9:00 to my son throwing up on the bed.
I watched him while my wife got a load of laundry started.
We went to the doctor's office, then we went home.
My wife went to her mom's house.
I played cars with my son.
I surfed the net.
I took my son to the arcade and bought my wife a doll, then we went home.
I hung up wet laundry.
I ate lunch.
I played cars with my son.
He threw a screaming tantrum, so I lectured him.
I played video games.
My wife woke up and went to work.
My son woke up and threw another screaming tantrum, so I yelled at him.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I cooked and ate dinner.
I did the dishes.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I hung up wet laundry again.
I played video games.
I slept.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Then and Now 20 - Old Town
Then and Now 20 - Old Town
Time: Late 2007, single and at my apartment.
This is a fragmented memory of my unmarried days, and I have no idea what brought me to this place. My memories of this trip start sort of suddenly, and no matter how many times I turn around the day in my mind, I still can't pinpoint why it was that I came. Though I can't say for certain, it's probably self-explanatory that my memories of the foreigner section of town started at a food store.
This was the place where I picked up refried beans to cook burritos at my apartment. Ever since my mom had sent me a tortilla maker and beans in the mail, I had eaten Mexican for several nights at my apartment, and cooked burritos for many friends, neighbors in my apartment complex, and even my young students. But because of my obsession with a little home cooking, I was quickly running out of beans. I think I came to this place because I heard of a store in the foreigner section of town where they sold stuff from North America, and I was coming to see if they had anything I knew.
The store was a little hole in the wall, independent convenience store. In the center of it sat an enclosed freezer that held several different kinds of foods, and there were shelves that ran around the entire place with even more things to eat on them. Not only did they have beans and large tortillas, but they had boxed cereal, peanut butter & chocolate candy, and other things from America that I hadn't eaten in quite a while. It was quite a nostalgic moment for me.
As I was looking around the place and checking out the Frosted Flakes, Vlasic pickles and (yes!) Rosarita bean cans, a middle-aged, balding foreigner walked in with a local woman. He was talking to her about something involving school or classes, and though he seemed to be trying to impress her, she looked somewhat disinterested. I said hello to the man. He locked eyes with me for a fraction of a second, then he brushed past me, not pausing his speech in the slightest to respond. I was pretty used to that kind of behavior from other foreigners by then, so I just left without another word; I had found my beans.
While I was up in this area, I decided to keep going in the direction that the bus was headed when it brought me there, just to look around a bit. I didn't actually know that this was the foreigner section of town until I started to walk up the streets there. But after a while, I really started to notice a lot of them walking past me down the street. I saw an older gentleman standing in a dance studio and talking to a local woman, a few standing in line at a bank, and a couple getting on and off buses on the road beside me. I said hello where I could, and the smallest fraction of the foreigners answered back. The rest of them quickly jogged away or pretended not to hear me. I felt a bit smug, knowing how self-conscious these chubby, bald old men felt around the confident, handsome young guy who just wanted to say hello.
The first stop I got to was a massive park. It was shaped like an outdoor sports stadium with stair-seats in a semi-circle on the far end. In front of the stair-seats were a bunch of foreigners, their local wives, and a ton of kids just running around with balls and dogs all over the place. One of the kids blasted a ball straight towards the road behind me, so I ran after it to make sure it didn't go into traffic. He looked nervous as I scooped it up, but after I launched it back to him, he smiled and waved.
I left not long after, and went up the road to an odd entrance of sorts. The road descended from a humble mountain before me, and went around in a circle around a miniature grassy median. On either side of where the road went up into the mountains were two tall office buildings, standing tall and firm like the legs of the Colossus of Rhodes. It was a great sight, so I decided to go up and see what I could see. The road was on an incline going up the little mountain, and there were trees running down a median in the center. When I started up it, the skies were getting kind of dark, and one by one, the lights of numerous shops lining the streets in front of me began to light up.
Most of the other shopping centers I had been to were filled with clothes and food, and not much else. They were still exciting to visit, of course, because every store had its own unique music, bosses, products, layout and so on. But here, the shops were something else. Here at the end of the foreigner section of town, this place felt like old town did back in America: there were many classically shaped stores, all selling beautiful, traditional art pieces, detailed statues, crystal sculptures and pottery, that all lent an air of tradition and history to the area. Some of them had art pieces that were strewn about the store in piles here and there, while others had lines and lines of shelves that held them in place. Either way, I snapped a lot of pictures of the many things that I saw up there. It was a warm, peaceful night of walking all the way up that little mountain, seeing every shop from the outside and admiring the beauty within them.
I had little luck talking with other foreigners on the way back down, so I just went back to the food store to get a dozen or two cans of beans. Then, I made my way back to the bus stop, took it to the subway, headed back to my city and went home to watch TV and sleep.
As for today...
I woke up at 9:00.
I watched TV.
I went out with my wife and son to get lunch, then I took my son to the arcade, then we went home.
I read to my son.
I watched internet movies with him.
I watched TV.
He fell asleep.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I watched internet movies with my son.
I surfed the net.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I folded and put away dry clothes.
I watched internet movies with my son.
I slept.
Time: Late 2007, single and at my apartment.
This is a fragmented memory of my unmarried days, and I have no idea what brought me to this place. My memories of this trip start sort of suddenly, and no matter how many times I turn around the day in my mind, I still can't pinpoint why it was that I came. Though I can't say for certain, it's probably self-explanatory that my memories of the foreigner section of town started at a food store.
This was the place where I picked up refried beans to cook burritos at my apartment. Ever since my mom had sent me a tortilla maker and beans in the mail, I had eaten Mexican for several nights at my apartment, and cooked burritos for many friends, neighbors in my apartment complex, and even my young students. But because of my obsession with a little home cooking, I was quickly running out of beans. I think I came to this place because I heard of a store in the foreigner section of town where they sold stuff from North America, and I was coming to see if they had anything I knew.
The store was a little hole in the wall, independent convenience store. In the center of it sat an enclosed freezer that held several different kinds of foods, and there were shelves that ran around the entire place with even more things to eat on them. Not only did they have beans and large tortillas, but they had boxed cereal, peanut butter & chocolate candy, and other things from America that I hadn't eaten in quite a while. It was quite a nostalgic moment for me.
As I was looking around the place and checking out the Frosted Flakes, Vlasic pickles and (yes!) Rosarita bean cans, a middle-aged, balding foreigner walked in with a local woman. He was talking to her about something involving school or classes, and though he seemed to be trying to impress her, she looked somewhat disinterested. I said hello to the man. He locked eyes with me for a fraction of a second, then he brushed past me, not pausing his speech in the slightest to respond. I was pretty used to that kind of behavior from other foreigners by then, so I just left without another word; I had found my beans.
While I was up in this area, I decided to keep going in the direction that the bus was headed when it brought me there, just to look around a bit. I didn't actually know that this was the foreigner section of town until I started to walk up the streets there. But after a while, I really started to notice a lot of them walking past me down the street. I saw an older gentleman standing in a dance studio and talking to a local woman, a few standing in line at a bank, and a couple getting on and off buses on the road beside me. I said hello where I could, and the smallest fraction of the foreigners answered back. The rest of them quickly jogged away or pretended not to hear me. I felt a bit smug, knowing how self-conscious these chubby, bald old men felt around the confident, handsome young guy who just wanted to say hello.
The first stop I got to was a massive park. It was shaped like an outdoor sports stadium with stair-seats in a semi-circle on the far end. In front of the stair-seats were a bunch of foreigners, their local wives, and a ton of kids just running around with balls and dogs all over the place. One of the kids blasted a ball straight towards the road behind me, so I ran after it to make sure it didn't go into traffic. He looked nervous as I scooped it up, but after I launched it back to him, he smiled and waved.
I left not long after, and went up the road to an odd entrance of sorts. The road descended from a humble mountain before me, and went around in a circle around a miniature grassy median. On either side of where the road went up into the mountains were two tall office buildings, standing tall and firm like the legs of the Colossus of Rhodes. It was a great sight, so I decided to go up and see what I could see. The road was on an incline going up the little mountain, and there were trees running down a median in the center. When I started up it, the skies were getting kind of dark, and one by one, the lights of numerous shops lining the streets in front of me began to light up.
Most of the other shopping centers I had been to were filled with clothes and food, and not much else. They were still exciting to visit, of course, because every store had its own unique music, bosses, products, layout and so on. But here, the shops were something else. Here at the end of the foreigner section of town, this place felt like old town did back in America: there were many classically shaped stores, all selling beautiful, traditional art pieces, detailed statues, crystal sculptures and pottery, that all lent an air of tradition and history to the area. Some of them had art pieces that were strewn about the store in piles here and there, while others had lines and lines of shelves that held them in place. Either way, I snapped a lot of pictures of the many things that I saw up there. It was a warm, peaceful night of walking all the way up that little mountain, seeing every shop from the outside and admiring the beauty within them.
I had little luck talking with other foreigners on the way back down, so I just went back to the food store to get a dozen or two cans of beans. Then, I made my way back to the bus stop, took it to the subway, headed back to my city and went home to watch TV and sleep.
As for today...
I woke up at 9:00.
I watched TV.
I went out with my wife and son to get lunch, then I took my son to the arcade, then we went home.
I read to my son.
I watched internet movies with him.
I watched TV.
He fell asleep.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I watched internet movies with my son.
I surfed the net.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I folded and put away dry clothes.
I watched internet movies with my son.
I slept.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Then and Now 19 - Hookah
Then and Now 19 - Hookah
Time: Mid-2007, single and at the hostel.
I wandered around the main city for hours, seeing strangers, window shopping, and following bus routes on foot to get the lay of the land. I was pretty beat when I got back to the hostel that night. I had just crashed on my bed, eyes heavy, when a familiar voice called out, "Hey!" It was Ken, wondering if I wanted to go hang with him, Harry and Vicki at a hookah bar. I shook the cobwebs out of my head and agreed immediately. The two of us went outside to catch a late night bus, and in no time, we were at our destination.
All four of us met up in a cozy suburban alley between two normal looking houses. The lights were off in both of them, but there were streetlights that provided more than enough light to look around. After a bunch of hellos, hugs and handshakes, we all went down some stairs that led to the basement of one of the houses. Inside, we were in a dark room that was occupied by a number of locals. Everything was very calm there, though there was an undercurrent of hushed excitement, and a sweet smell in the air. The four of us took a seat, and Harry told us that the last time he had come to this place, he had toked from an incredibly smooth hookah, and that he wanted to get the same one again. The only problem was that he didn't know the word for "base" in the local language to ask for the "hookah with the wide base" to get it again.
Coincidentally enough, that was one of several hundred "simple" words I had memorized in the previous few weeks. I told him the word, the whole table cheered, and soon enough, a local girl came up to us and asked us what we wanted. Harry told her about the special pipe, and off she went to bring it to us. In the meantime, we had a conversation about race, or more specifically, which combinations of race and gender were considered the most attractive to the world's population. It was only discussing other people's perceptions on the issue, not our own, so it wasn't that serious.
When the hookah showed up, I started to have an even better time. I had only ever smoked cigarettes and a single cigar in my entire life, so when I took my first toke of that thing, I was absolutely amazed by how smooth the hit was. The taste was shockingly sweet and good, the smoke didn't burn at all, and it tasted even better on the way out. It was, literally, the best smoke I've ever had in my life. I must have been making a mild "O" face at that point, because everyone at the table snickered and congratulated me on my obvious first toke of a hookah pipe.
From then on, it was a relaxing night of hit after hit, topic after topic. Harry told us all about an excellent banking job he had lined up for himself in America. Vicky told us about some missionary work she was doing for the locals. Ken and I joked about our trip to the beach, about me getting tossed into the water, and how everyone except me had been attacked by jellyfish. We also discussed whether we would date any of the local girls. Ken said that if it happened, it happened, and he didn't award or take away points for where a girl came from. I felt the same: a woman's heart was the most important to me, and her birthplace was just an interesting point. After a while, we all split the bill, then headed back up outside to go home.
Ken and I took a taxi back to the hostel, and on the way there, he got into a conversation with the driver. Thanks to Ken's polite questions and inquisitive mind, I learned the local word for "seatbelt" that night. In no time, he and I were back home. We took showers, complimented the great taste of the hookah through our respective curtains, dried up, said good night, then went off to bed.
That was a real turning point of a night for me and my friends. It was the last time I ever saw Harry, because he was leaving the country pretty soon after that. Ken and Vicky ended up getting together less than 24 hours later at her apartment, and the two of them became a bit too busy to hang with me much more. As for me, I didn't let a few goodbyes slow me down, even though I was sad to see my friends leaving. I still got to see Ken and Vicky one more time, when they came by for my party in Then and Now 4 before they finally left the country for good a bit later.
That's about all I remember Ken, Harry and Vicky. If I remember any more tidbits of them, I'll be sure to put them in a future "Odds and Ends" post.
As for today...
I woke up at 11:00.
I hung up wet laundry.
I went out with my son and wife to the beach to play in the water, then we all got lunch, then we went home.
I watched TV.
I played video games.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I ate dinner.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I did the dishes.
I folded and put away dry clothes.
I watched internet movies with my son.
I slept.
Time: Mid-2007, single and at the hostel.
I wandered around the main city for hours, seeing strangers, window shopping, and following bus routes on foot to get the lay of the land. I was pretty beat when I got back to the hostel that night. I had just crashed on my bed, eyes heavy, when a familiar voice called out, "Hey!" It was Ken, wondering if I wanted to go hang with him, Harry and Vicki at a hookah bar. I shook the cobwebs out of my head and agreed immediately. The two of us went outside to catch a late night bus, and in no time, we were at our destination.
All four of us met up in a cozy suburban alley between two normal looking houses. The lights were off in both of them, but there were streetlights that provided more than enough light to look around. After a bunch of hellos, hugs and handshakes, we all went down some stairs that led to the basement of one of the houses. Inside, we were in a dark room that was occupied by a number of locals. Everything was very calm there, though there was an undercurrent of hushed excitement, and a sweet smell in the air. The four of us took a seat, and Harry told us that the last time he had come to this place, he had toked from an incredibly smooth hookah, and that he wanted to get the same one again. The only problem was that he didn't know the word for "base" in the local language to ask for the "hookah with the wide base" to get it again.
Coincidentally enough, that was one of several hundred "simple" words I had memorized in the previous few weeks. I told him the word, the whole table cheered, and soon enough, a local girl came up to us and asked us what we wanted. Harry told her about the special pipe, and off she went to bring it to us. In the meantime, we had a conversation about race, or more specifically, which combinations of race and gender were considered the most attractive to the world's population. It was only discussing other people's perceptions on the issue, not our own, so it wasn't that serious.
When the hookah showed up, I started to have an even better time. I had only ever smoked cigarettes and a single cigar in my entire life, so when I took my first toke of that thing, I was absolutely amazed by how smooth the hit was. The taste was shockingly sweet and good, the smoke didn't burn at all, and it tasted even better on the way out. It was, literally, the best smoke I've ever had in my life. I must have been making a mild "O" face at that point, because everyone at the table snickered and congratulated me on my obvious first toke of a hookah pipe.
From then on, it was a relaxing night of hit after hit, topic after topic. Harry told us all about an excellent banking job he had lined up for himself in America. Vicky told us about some missionary work she was doing for the locals. Ken and I joked about our trip to the beach, about me getting tossed into the water, and how everyone except me had been attacked by jellyfish. We also discussed whether we would date any of the local girls. Ken said that if it happened, it happened, and he didn't award or take away points for where a girl came from. I felt the same: a woman's heart was the most important to me, and her birthplace was just an interesting point. After a while, we all split the bill, then headed back up outside to go home.
Ken and I took a taxi back to the hostel, and on the way there, he got into a conversation with the driver. Thanks to Ken's polite questions and inquisitive mind, I learned the local word for "seatbelt" that night. In no time, he and I were back home. We took showers, complimented the great taste of the hookah through our respective curtains, dried up, said good night, then went off to bed.
That was a real turning point of a night for me and my friends. It was the last time I ever saw Harry, because he was leaving the country pretty soon after that. Ken and Vicky ended up getting together less than 24 hours later at her apartment, and the two of them became a bit too busy to hang with me much more. As for me, I didn't let a few goodbyes slow me down, even though I was sad to see my friends leaving. I still got to see Ken and Vicky one more time, when they came by for my party in Then and Now 4 before they finally left the country for good a bit later.
That's about all I remember Ken, Harry and Vicky. If I remember any more tidbits of them, I'll be sure to put them in a future "Odds and Ends" post.
As for today...
I woke up at 11:00.
I hung up wet laundry.
I went out with my son and wife to the beach to play in the water, then we all got lunch, then we went home.
I watched TV.
I played video games.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I came home.
I ate dinner.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I did the dishes.
I folded and put away dry clothes.
I watched internet movies with my son.
I slept.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Strength, jealousy and fear
About a week ago, I got my first traffic ticket in the mail for doing something that's completely legal in America, but not here. When I went to go pay, I opened my wallet and thumbed past nearly US$1000 waiting to be deposited in my wife's account, took a couple of bills out and took care of it.
I really didn't care. It's hard for me to get excited about having that much money, or being penalized for this or that, knowing that almost every last bill in my wallet is going to pay for some sort of family expense. That money might as well have been pocket lint.
And that got me thinking... how did it come to this? Of course it's because I got married, but how did so many things go so wrong, so quickly? There had to be some kind of common thread running through all the things I gave up to take care of my family. My freedom, my time, my money... all that stuff left at the same time, so they had to be connected somehow. And slowly but surely, I finally understood what it was that I gave up that bound all of these things together: it was my strength.
What is freedom, if not the ability to choose your path in life, work hard for what you want, and deal with the consequences through your own strength? In addition, money is power, time is untapped potential to express yourself, and adventure, dating and charity also require indomitable will. When I married, I gave up my strength so I could protect and care for those close to me.
I compromise because my wife and I, while similar in many respects, are different people. To do what I want would mean forcing her to do things she doesn't want to do, things which aren't possible with family life anyway. And even traveling a bit a week or hanging with a friend or two makes no difference, because no amount of anything ever returns my old life to me. I sacrifice because my son needs me to be there for him, and to do what I want would mean spending little time with him. I don't want to give up power over my life and my dreams, but I must.
It wasn't always like this. Back in my unmarried days, I was a true man: I took charge, was a leader, experienced new things, cultivated charisma and maintained a powerful attitude of perseverance. I went out and tried new things, and did what I wanted to do. More importantly, though, I combined being a confident beast with honor during my unmarried time. I did what I wanted, but I also stepped on no toes and hurt no person as I enjoyed my life.
Now, for the sake of my family, I have become a workhorse loser by suppressing that part of me who follows his dreams, and letting go of my ability to choose my own path in life. I have returned to the life coasting, order following, goalless complacent boy I used to be. So now, because I'm left without the ability to pursue my goals, or even have much of a say in what I do with my everyday life, an old, shameful feeling has bubbled to the surface once more.
Jealousy walked with me every day of my depressed time, and largely manifested as my stomach feeling like it was tied in knots when I saw other people enjoying what I wanted. I never felt it after I went abroad and those two lost weeks went by. Yes, I saw men with things I wanted, but I never felt like taking anything from them. I never considered another man's property, experiences or relationships anything more than inspiration for me to work harder and better my own life.
As a married man, though, I find myself in the same position as I was in my depressed time. For example, I still see foreigners every day. Four years ago, they would have been potential friends. Now, they're just constant reminders of what I gave up, and will never again have, in my life. They have the power to go out and enjoy life when they want; I don't. They have the power to change and become whoever they want to be; I don't. Every time I see other men out with their beautiful, smiling girlfriends, riding around town with their friends, drinking at a bar, or just hear them telling stories of the great weekend they just had, I feel like someone just punched me in the gut. I can't stop thinking about how I used to be these guys, and I can't forget that I'm never going to experience that young, free, powerful kind of life again.
Similarly, when I was in my depressed years, I hated Alphas and anything like them: CEOs, the police, the rich, America, guys with girlfriends, if they had strength, I hated them. It wasn't just people who abused their power that I hated, either: it was anybody stronger than I was. When I walked by men with beautiful girlfriends, I seethed. Who is this pop-collared loser with that hot girl? I would think. I deserve her more than he does!
When I finished working on myself and had acquired the same strength that I once decried those other people for having, I realized how much of a loser that I used to be. It wasn't those people in positions of power that I hated; it was my own self that I loathed, and I was externalizing my fears, failures and laziness onto people more successful than I.
But now, nothing I do can improve my life. And those thoughts I had about frat boys with girlfriends in college? Now they come to me regarding foreign men here, who have hot girlfriends, make lots of money and have fun, and all the while not even making a token effort to experience the local culture or learn the local language, and instead spend their time bar hopping, clubbing, going to the beach, eating at McDonald's and drinking at Starbucks... the same things they did back home. I don't know what's more striking: the similarity between my current thoughts about other foreigners and my old thoughts about frat boys, or how self-destructive and useless these thoughts are in the first place. I fight these thoughts every day, and I would change my life to keep them from coming in the first place, but I'm married. All I can do now is struggle to keep them from taking root.
And all of this is connected to my video game addiction. How could I go from playing video games twelve hours a day as a depressed boy, to playing them a few hours a day abroad, to having them boxed up and ready to sell because I felt I didn't need them anymore, to the man I am today? The one who hoards games and plays them by the dozens every year? The answer, again, is strength. I have limited power over everything in my life: money, work, sex, chores, time... and everything requires at least some kind of approval of my capricious wife. But compare this to before I got married, where I answered to nobody but my boss, who paid me for my time, and my honor.
Video games are the last shred of power I have over my married life. Yes, they're not real, and yes, I realize that. But without them, I would have no control over any part of my life, no matter how illusory. I save the lives of imaginary people and explore imaginary worlds not because I believe they exist in an alternate dimension or anything, but because when I play video games, I can forget for just an hour or two a day that I have no power over anything else. What was once a surrogate parent became a hobby, then an obsession, then something I no longer needed, and finally came back to filling a void in my life.
Truthfully, if there's one "benefit" I've received from losing all of my strength to marriage, it's that I no longer have any fear. Aside from serious things happening to my family, like assault, rape, a car accident, kidnapping, drugs, murder or something similar, I don't really care. My entire life feels like a derivative, unsurprising, (barely) interactive movie that just keeps going on and on. After nearly four years of this, very few things even feel real.
My boss is yelling at me for something stupid. So? My wife and mother-in-law don't do it as much now, but it's been a week since either of them popped, so one of them is due to go off any day now.
I won some money in the lottery. So? It's not like I'm going to spend it on anything but rent and bills.
I have more useless work training to go through. So? I wasn't doing anything fun at home.
Only 5797 days to go, and I'm free. So? By then I'll be in my late fourties, and life's pretty much over then anyway. And I'll still be married, which means my wife may end up too unhealthy or uninterested to follow me on my travels around the world, so I'll probably just end up buying a house with her and waiting around in it for a decade or three to die.
I had a good trip with my family today. Great, but we're heading back home now, work is two hours away, I have chores waiting for me tonight, I'm going to wake up tomorrow to more sitting around and staring at the wall, and somebody's probably going to pop before I go to work again.
Before I got married, people begged me to take jobs that I applied for. Strangers approached me every day wanting to get to know me. Friends (including my wife) literally apologized to me for the slightest mistake, because they didn't want to risk losing me as a friend. I helped others through my words, my money and my work. I was thanked, trusted and honored in return for my efforts, but even when I received nothing, it didn't matter to me. I helped people where I could because I wanted to, and when my work was done, I was off to do something adventurous to make myself even happier. And all of this was possible because I was an amazing, powerful human being who tempered that strength with honor.
Now, people walk by me without a second glance. Nobody needlessly apologizes to me; they expect apologies of me. Nobody cleans up my messes or buys me gifts out of the blue; they get those things from me. All I do is work, sacrifice and compromise. People still make use of my efforts, but not only is my work usually not rewarded (or even recognized), but I don't have that personal strength to go off and do something I want to do to balance it all out. My life is a cycle of working for others and sitting around, with my desires forever pushed back or outright shut down by the needs of my family.
The vast bulk of my life is a wash, and it doesn't matter if good or bad things happen to me. Whether I solve a problem in my life or not, whether I get this or that monkey off of my back or not, things will just keep decaying or outright falling apart, and I'll spend the rest of my life cleaning up other people's messes. I won't be going back to the man I was, no matter what I do, and no matter how hard I try. And all of this is because I gave up all of my strength when I married.
I really didn't care. It's hard for me to get excited about having that much money, or being penalized for this or that, knowing that almost every last bill in my wallet is going to pay for some sort of family expense. That money might as well have been pocket lint.
And that got me thinking... how did it come to this? Of course it's because I got married, but how did so many things go so wrong, so quickly? There had to be some kind of common thread running through all the things I gave up to take care of my family. My freedom, my time, my money... all that stuff left at the same time, so they had to be connected somehow. And slowly but surely, I finally understood what it was that I gave up that bound all of these things together: it was my strength.
What is freedom, if not the ability to choose your path in life, work hard for what you want, and deal with the consequences through your own strength? In addition, money is power, time is untapped potential to express yourself, and adventure, dating and charity also require indomitable will. When I married, I gave up my strength so I could protect and care for those close to me.
I compromise because my wife and I, while similar in many respects, are different people. To do what I want would mean forcing her to do things she doesn't want to do, things which aren't possible with family life anyway. And even traveling a bit a week or hanging with a friend or two makes no difference, because no amount of anything ever returns my old life to me. I sacrifice because my son needs me to be there for him, and to do what I want would mean spending little time with him. I don't want to give up power over my life and my dreams, but I must.
It wasn't always like this. Back in my unmarried days, I was a true man: I took charge, was a leader, experienced new things, cultivated charisma and maintained a powerful attitude of perseverance. I went out and tried new things, and did what I wanted to do. More importantly, though, I combined being a confident beast with honor during my unmarried time. I did what I wanted, but I also stepped on no toes and hurt no person as I enjoyed my life.
Now, for the sake of my family, I have become a workhorse loser by suppressing that part of me who follows his dreams, and letting go of my ability to choose my own path in life. I have returned to the life coasting, order following, goalless complacent boy I used to be. So now, because I'm left without the ability to pursue my goals, or even have much of a say in what I do with my everyday life, an old, shameful feeling has bubbled to the surface once more.
Jealousy walked with me every day of my depressed time, and largely manifested as my stomach feeling like it was tied in knots when I saw other people enjoying what I wanted. I never felt it after I went abroad and those two lost weeks went by. Yes, I saw men with things I wanted, but I never felt like taking anything from them. I never considered another man's property, experiences or relationships anything more than inspiration for me to work harder and better my own life.
As a married man, though, I find myself in the same position as I was in my depressed time. For example, I still see foreigners every day. Four years ago, they would have been potential friends. Now, they're just constant reminders of what I gave up, and will never again have, in my life. They have the power to go out and enjoy life when they want; I don't. They have the power to change and become whoever they want to be; I don't. Every time I see other men out with their beautiful, smiling girlfriends, riding around town with their friends, drinking at a bar, or just hear them telling stories of the great weekend they just had, I feel like someone just punched me in the gut. I can't stop thinking about how I used to be these guys, and I can't forget that I'm never going to experience that young, free, powerful kind of life again.
Similarly, when I was in my depressed years, I hated Alphas and anything like them: CEOs, the police, the rich, America, guys with girlfriends, if they had strength, I hated them. It wasn't just people who abused their power that I hated, either: it was anybody stronger than I was. When I walked by men with beautiful girlfriends, I seethed. Who is this pop-collared loser with that hot girl? I would think. I deserve her more than he does!
When I finished working on myself and had acquired the same strength that I once decried those other people for having, I realized how much of a loser that I used to be. It wasn't those people in positions of power that I hated; it was my own self that I loathed, and I was externalizing my fears, failures and laziness onto people more successful than I.
But now, nothing I do can improve my life. And those thoughts I had about frat boys with girlfriends in college? Now they come to me regarding foreign men here, who have hot girlfriends, make lots of money and have fun, and all the while not even making a token effort to experience the local culture or learn the local language, and instead spend their time bar hopping, clubbing, going to the beach, eating at McDonald's and drinking at Starbucks... the same things they did back home. I don't know what's more striking: the similarity between my current thoughts about other foreigners and my old thoughts about frat boys, or how self-destructive and useless these thoughts are in the first place. I fight these thoughts every day, and I would change my life to keep them from coming in the first place, but I'm married. All I can do now is struggle to keep them from taking root.
And all of this is connected to my video game addiction. How could I go from playing video games twelve hours a day as a depressed boy, to playing them a few hours a day abroad, to having them boxed up and ready to sell because I felt I didn't need them anymore, to the man I am today? The one who hoards games and plays them by the dozens every year? The answer, again, is strength. I have limited power over everything in my life: money, work, sex, chores, time... and everything requires at least some kind of approval of my capricious wife. But compare this to before I got married, where I answered to nobody but my boss, who paid me for my time, and my honor.
Video games are the last shred of power I have over my married life. Yes, they're not real, and yes, I realize that. But without them, I would have no control over any part of my life, no matter how illusory. I save the lives of imaginary people and explore imaginary worlds not because I believe they exist in an alternate dimension or anything, but because when I play video games, I can forget for just an hour or two a day that I have no power over anything else. What was once a surrogate parent became a hobby, then an obsession, then something I no longer needed, and finally came back to filling a void in my life.
Truthfully, if there's one "benefit" I've received from losing all of my strength to marriage, it's that I no longer have any fear. Aside from serious things happening to my family, like assault, rape, a car accident, kidnapping, drugs, murder or something similar, I don't really care. My entire life feels like a derivative, unsurprising, (barely) interactive movie that just keeps going on and on. After nearly four years of this, very few things even feel real.
My boss is yelling at me for something stupid. So? My wife and mother-in-law don't do it as much now, but it's been a week since either of them popped, so one of them is due to go off any day now.
I won some money in the lottery. So? It's not like I'm going to spend it on anything but rent and bills.
I have more useless work training to go through. So? I wasn't doing anything fun at home.
Only 5797 days to go, and I'm free. So? By then I'll be in my late fourties, and life's pretty much over then anyway. And I'll still be married, which means my wife may end up too unhealthy or uninterested to follow me on my travels around the world, so I'll probably just end up buying a house with her and waiting around in it for a decade or three to die.
I had a good trip with my family today. Great, but we're heading back home now, work is two hours away, I have chores waiting for me tonight, I'm going to wake up tomorrow to more sitting around and staring at the wall, and somebody's probably going to pop before I go to work again.
Before I got married, people begged me to take jobs that I applied for. Strangers approached me every day wanting to get to know me. Friends (including my wife) literally apologized to me for the slightest mistake, because they didn't want to risk losing me as a friend. I helped others through my words, my money and my work. I was thanked, trusted and honored in return for my efforts, but even when I received nothing, it didn't matter to me. I helped people where I could because I wanted to, and when my work was done, I was off to do something adventurous to make myself even happier. And all of this was possible because I was an amazing, powerful human being who tempered that strength with honor.
Now, people walk by me without a second glance. Nobody needlessly apologizes to me; they expect apologies of me. Nobody cleans up my messes or buys me gifts out of the blue; they get those things from me. All I do is work, sacrifice and compromise. People still make use of my efforts, but not only is my work usually not rewarded (or even recognized), but I don't have that personal strength to go off and do something I want to do to balance it all out. My life is a cycle of working for others and sitting around, with my desires forever pushed back or outright shut down by the needs of my family.
The vast bulk of my life is a wash, and it doesn't matter if good or bad things happen to me. Whether I solve a problem in my life or not, whether I get this or that monkey off of my back or not, things will just keep decaying or outright falling apart, and I'll spend the rest of my life cleaning up other people's messes. I won't be going back to the man I was, no matter what I do, and no matter how hard I try. And all of this is because I gave up all of my strength when I married.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Then and Now 18 - An Empty Stop
Then and Now 18 - An Empty Stop
Time: Late 2007, single and at my apartment.
One day off from work, I decided to go out into town and see something that wasn't on my subway map. I don't remember where the stop was, but it's to be expected because I just picked a random place to go to, one that clearly had no touristy places labeled next to or around it. I knew something had to be there, and I was going to find out what... so after I got dressed and spiked my hair, I took a quick bus to the subway station to see what I could see that day.
When the subway car reached my destination, I got off and started to walk in a random direction. I chose to walk down an alleyway that was barely wide enough to accomodate a single car going in one direction, and checked to make sure that I wouldn't get hit by anybody going to or from the subway station.
The alley was lined on both sides with short apartment buildings. Laundry hung outside to dry here and there, some of the locals' doors were open to let the heat out and a breeze in, and I even saw a few people watching TV inside their cozy places. I passed by an older lady, and though she gave me a bit of a stare as I passed, I just half-grinned at her and kept on my way. I walked for a while down this alleyway and past several dozen more tiny apartment complexes, and when they were all behind me, my journey continued down a non-descript road filled with zooming cars. It was a peaceful walk, and though there wasn't much to see, I was still satisfied that I could cross this stop off my list, and turn around to go back to the subway station to see one of the last few things that was labeled on my map.
But at that moment, off in the distance, I saw a two-story temple erupting out from behind a gas station in front of me. I figured I might as well head over to see what was what before I headed back. It was beautifully decorated, and for a temple of its massive size, it was almost completely deserted. There were a few locals here and there praying, but for the most part, I was almost completely alone. I wandered around quietly so as not to disturb my spiritual neighbors, then went up a flight of stairs that led around the back part of the temple. From up there, I could see that I was pretty close to the ocean, and I saw a beautiful sight that some other buildings had obscured before: there was a biking and jogging trail that cut between the lapping waves of the ocean, and the thick grasses of a forested plain that waved in the breeze. Having seen the beauty of the temple, I decided it was time to go natural and see the trail.
But as I was leaving the temple, I heard a familiar music beat. It had been a while since I had heard this song, but once I had followed it to its source and it was loud enough, I placed it immediately: it was "The Man with the Machine Gun" from the soundtrack for Final Fantasy 8, my favorite video game of all time. I snickered and wondered why they'd be playing this song at a temple of all places. The song was coming from an arm of the temple, way off to the side, so I walked over to it and peeked in.
The arm was a long and tall, but quite narrow, hallway that led back into the internals of the temple. The song was being piped in through a PA system above me, and on both sides of this narrow arm were several centerpieces featuring elaborately designed scenes, where intricately carved dolls and puppets were positioned. From where I had come in to where the path led out, I saw that it showed the history of the country. Some of the pieces showed dolls fishing, others showed how the locals dealt with historic invaders and subsequent occupation, and the last one showed the country as it is today: a mix of old traditions and new culture and experiences. It was quite an amazing scene, something I never expected to accidentally stumble upon. When I had finished looking around, I left the temple and headed to the nature trail.
There were several locals going up and down on bikes and on foot. With the temple behind me, to my right was the boundless, rolling ocean and several boats sailing upon it. To my left was a huge, absolutely massive field of tall grass, and a forest that semi-circled its way far, far behind it. I could see where the buildings that I had walked by before were originally blocking my view of this place, just to the side of the forest. As I walked down this peaceful trail with locals all around me, the ocean sent gust after gust of relaxing wind past me and through the grass. It was serene.
The trail continued for about thirty minutes until I was skirting the forest itself. Eventually, I reached a T-intersection where the trail went straight towards some old houses, and left towards a massive canal. Amid the trees, I saw a couple of old, but cozy-looking, house-farms, and outside the one at the little intersection was a young local boy, who was drawing some pictures in the dirt. He looked up at me with mild surprise, then told me that I had to go left to get back to the subway station. I thanked him and moved on.
So at this point, the sun was starting to set, and I was feeling a bit beat. I followed the edge of the forest for a very brief time until I found myself at the canal that I saw earlier. I walked along the left side, casting occasional glances to the right and into the ditch, and to the left at some more house-farms.
The house-farms were amazingly beautiful. They were between me and the setting sun behind them, and the water where locals had planted submerged crops reflected the sun's rays as glittering cyclones of orange and red. I passed several farms, and every time I drew next to them, the sunlight found another way to cast lazy shadows over the buildings, or come off of the water to meet my eye. The canal was interesting, too. It was mostly dry and empty, but in some places there were tiny pools of water where trapped fish were desperately swimming around. Around those little pools were local fishermen, relishing the easy catches that these fish had made of themselves, and pulling them out to clean and sell at the market later. I admired their resourcefulness.
It wasn't long before I had walked all of the way back to the subway station. I was still pretty far from the stop that would take me home, so I decided to see just one more thing before I got there. On my map, there was very little left for me to see of the main city (that was labeled, at least). But one of those things was a sports stadium, and it was on the way home, so when the car pulled up to its stop, I got off and took a walk to go see it. I didn't know what I was expecting to see. I didn't know if there was anybody playing that day, what sport they would be playing, or even if I had the interest to go to a game. When I rounded several corners around brightly lit local shops with flasing signs advertising their varied wares, I finally found myself face to face with the stadium. And... it was closed.
I shook my head with a slight smile. Oh, no! I thought to myself. It's not going to end this way. So I just kept walking, looking for something amazing to end the trip with a bang. The roads around the stadium were huge, several lanes wide and covered in towering trees. It was night by then, and the streetlights seemed hardly enough to illuminate much more than a small circle of grass around them. It was eerie, and the perfect atmosphere for the final stop of my trip: an art museum.
The place had just closed up, and one by one, the lights were going out in the windows. I rushed over as fast as I could to go see what I could see, which turned out to not be much: the lobby was one of the last places to shut down, and I saw a marble statue of a woman and a beautiful landscape painting before it, too, went dark. When the entire building was swallowed up by the night, it was then that I noticed some spotlights at the corners pointing up at the top of the museum. I smiled and nodded my head in amazement; it looked like an unassailable fortress.
I checked my subway map and noticed that this museum was also on my list of things to see, but I didn't cross it or the stadium off the list. After all, I had barely seen either of them, so I couldn't very well say that I had the full stadium or museum experience. Shortly after, I was on the train heading home to a comfortable bed.
That was one of, if not the, last time I ever traveled as an unmarried man before my wife broke the news of her pregnancy. My old subway map is still in my memories box, and that stadium and museum still haven't been checked off. Maybe when my son is old enough, he and my wife are interested, my wife and I are both not working, the weather's not too bad and I have some money, I'll get to see them.
As for today...
I woke up at 10:30.
I played cars with my son.
I watched TV.
I went out for job training.
I came home.
I surfed the net.
I hung up wet laundry.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I ate dinner.
I came home.
I took my son to eat at McDonald's, then we went home.
I watched TV.
I hung up wet laundry again.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I did the dishes.
I started a load of laundry.
I watched internet movies with my son.
He fell asleep.
I hung up wet laundry yet again.
I played video games.
I slept.
Time: Late 2007, single and at my apartment.
One day off from work, I decided to go out into town and see something that wasn't on my subway map. I don't remember where the stop was, but it's to be expected because I just picked a random place to go to, one that clearly had no touristy places labeled next to or around it. I knew something had to be there, and I was going to find out what... so after I got dressed and spiked my hair, I took a quick bus to the subway station to see what I could see that day.
When the subway car reached my destination, I got off and started to walk in a random direction. I chose to walk down an alleyway that was barely wide enough to accomodate a single car going in one direction, and checked to make sure that I wouldn't get hit by anybody going to or from the subway station.
The alley was lined on both sides with short apartment buildings. Laundry hung outside to dry here and there, some of the locals' doors were open to let the heat out and a breeze in, and I even saw a few people watching TV inside their cozy places. I passed by an older lady, and though she gave me a bit of a stare as I passed, I just half-grinned at her and kept on my way. I walked for a while down this alleyway and past several dozen more tiny apartment complexes, and when they were all behind me, my journey continued down a non-descript road filled with zooming cars. It was a peaceful walk, and though there wasn't much to see, I was still satisfied that I could cross this stop off my list, and turn around to go back to the subway station to see one of the last few things that was labeled on my map.
But at that moment, off in the distance, I saw a two-story temple erupting out from behind a gas station in front of me. I figured I might as well head over to see what was what before I headed back. It was beautifully decorated, and for a temple of its massive size, it was almost completely deserted. There were a few locals here and there praying, but for the most part, I was almost completely alone. I wandered around quietly so as not to disturb my spiritual neighbors, then went up a flight of stairs that led around the back part of the temple. From up there, I could see that I was pretty close to the ocean, and I saw a beautiful sight that some other buildings had obscured before: there was a biking and jogging trail that cut between the lapping waves of the ocean, and the thick grasses of a forested plain that waved in the breeze. Having seen the beauty of the temple, I decided it was time to go natural and see the trail.
But as I was leaving the temple, I heard a familiar music beat. It had been a while since I had heard this song, but once I had followed it to its source and it was loud enough, I placed it immediately: it was "The Man with the Machine Gun" from the soundtrack for Final Fantasy 8, my favorite video game of all time. I snickered and wondered why they'd be playing this song at a temple of all places. The song was coming from an arm of the temple, way off to the side, so I walked over to it and peeked in.
The arm was a long and tall, but quite narrow, hallway that led back into the internals of the temple. The song was being piped in through a PA system above me, and on both sides of this narrow arm were several centerpieces featuring elaborately designed scenes, where intricately carved dolls and puppets were positioned. From where I had come in to where the path led out, I saw that it showed the history of the country. Some of the pieces showed dolls fishing, others showed how the locals dealt with historic invaders and subsequent occupation, and the last one showed the country as it is today: a mix of old traditions and new culture and experiences. It was quite an amazing scene, something I never expected to accidentally stumble upon. When I had finished looking around, I left the temple and headed to the nature trail.
There were several locals going up and down on bikes and on foot. With the temple behind me, to my right was the boundless, rolling ocean and several boats sailing upon it. To my left was a huge, absolutely massive field of tall grass, and a forest that semi-circled its way far, far behind it. I could see where the buildings that I had walked by before were originally blocking my view of this place, just to the side of the forest. As I walked down this peaceful trail with locals all around me, the ocean sent gust after gust of relaxing wind past me and through the grass. It was serene.
The trail continued for about thirty minutes until I was skirting the forest itself. Eventually, I reached a T-intersection where the trail went straight towards some old houses, and left towards a massive canal. Amid the trees, I saw a couple of old, but cozy-looking, house-farms, and outside the one at the little intersection was a young local boy, who was drawing some pictures in the dirt. He looked up at me with mild surprise, then told me that I had to go left to get back to the subway station. I thanked him and moved on.
So at this point, the sun was starting to set, and I was feeling a bit beat. I followed the edge of the forest for a very brief time until I found myself at the canal that I saw earlier. I walked along the left side, casting occasional glances to the right and into the ditch, and to the left at some more house-farms.
The house-farms were amazingly beautiful. They were between me and the setting sun behind them, and the water where locals had planted submerged crops reflected the sun's rays as glittering cyclones of orange and red. I passed several farms, and every time I drew next to them, the sunlight found another way to cast lazy shadows over the buildings, or come off of the water to meet my eye. The canal was interesting, too. It was mostly dry and empty, but in some places there were tiny pools of water where trapped fish were desperately swimming around. Around those little pools were local fishermen, relishing the easy catches that these fish had made of themselves, and pulling them out to clean and sell at the market later. I admired their resourcefulness.
It wasn't long before I had walked all of the way back to the subway station. I was still pretty far from the stop that would take me home, so I decided to see just one more thing before I got there. On my map, there was very little left for me to see of the main city (that was labeled, at least). But one of those things was a sports stadium, and it was on the way home, so when the car pulled up to its stop, I got off and took a walk to go see it. I didn't know what I was expecting to see. I didn't know if there was anybody playing that day, what sport they would be playing, or even if I had the interest to go to a game. When I rounded several corners around brightly lit local shops with flasing signs advertising their varied wares, I finally found myself face to face with the stadium. And... it was closed.
I shook my head with a slight smile. Oh, no! I thought to myself. It's not going to end this way. So I just kept walking, looking for something amazing to end the trip with a bang. The roads around the stadium were huge, several lanes wide and covered in towering trees. It was night by then, and the streetlights seemed hardly enough to illuminate much more than a small circle of grass around them. It was eerie, and the perfect atmosphere for the final stop of my trip: an art museum.
The place had just closed up, and one by one, the lights were going out in the windows. I rushed over as fast as I could to go see what I could see, which turned out to not be much: the lobby was one of the last places to shut down, and I saw a marble statue of a woman and a beautiful landscape painting before it, too, went dark. When the entire building was swallowed up by the night, it was then that I noticed some spotlights at the corners pointing up at the top of the museum. I smiled and nodded my head in amazement; it looked like an unassailable fortress.
I checked my subway map and noticed that this museum was also on my list of things to see, but I didn't cross it or the stadium off the list. After all, I had barely seen either of them, so I couldn't very well say that I had the full stadium or museum experience. Shortly after, I was on the train heading home to a comfortable bed.
That was one of, if not the, last time I ever traveled as an unmarried man before my wife broke the news of her pregnancy. My old subway map is still in my memories box, and that stadium and museum still haven't been checked off. Maybe when my son is old enough, he and my wife are interested, my wife and I are both not working, the weather's not too bad and I have some money, I'll get to see them.
As for today...
I woke up at 10:30.
I played cars with my son.
I watched TV.
I went out for job training.
I came home.
I surfed the net.
I hung up wet laundry.
I went to work.
I taught students.
I ate dinner.
I came home.
I took my son to eat at McDonald's, then we went home.
I watched TV.
I hung up wet laundry again.
I cleaned up the floor and table.
I did the dishes.
I started a load of laundry.
I watched internet movies with my son.
He fell asleep.
I hung up wet laundry yet again.
I played video games.
I slept.
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