Last night, after a very random series of events, I happened to meet a recovering alcoholic who is 35 years sober (I'll call her "Sarah" for simplicty's sake).
I used to think that it was unfair that a person was labeled an alcoholic for life even if they only drank heavily or abused alcohol for a year (or a few years, in this woman's case), but now I see that it's not a matter of fairness; the lifelong label "alcoholic" is a matter of honesty and an abandonment of wishful thinking. If you were ever an alcoholic, you still are; the only difference is that recovering alcoholics are alcoholics without booze. Add booze to the mix and it becomes abundantly clear why they still wear that badge.
One of my friends asked Sarah "Do you ever miss it? Is it hard?"
"You know," she said, "no, it isn't. Every once in awhile I walk into a restaurant and think to myself, 'Boy, it would be nice to have a glass of wine with my meal like everyone else.' But I never had a glass of wine, I had 10."
That's when she said, "I lived by the motto: Poor me...Pour me a drink." And it dawned on me that every alcoholic I know lives by the same motto. Sarah recited, verbatim, some of the things my very own friends have said to me, when she told me the excuses she used to make - most notoriously "if you had my life, you'd drink too." She was the first person to remind me that she had money, two beautiful children, and a loving husband and family.
Sarah believes she has a disease. She believes that she inherited the genes for alcoholism from some of her numerous alcoholic relatives. She said "My husband used to say to me, 'Why are you doing this?' That's not how it works. You wouldn't ask a cancer patient why they have cancer."
This is where we disagree. Yes, alcoholism is a disease, but not like cancer. Most cancer patients have absolutely no choice in their disease (the exception would be people who develop cancer after making repeated bad lifestyle choices - smoking, drinking - but even then, genetics play a role). Alcoholics, on the other hand, know - and I don't care what anyone says - they know, at some point or another that they have a drinking problem - that the alcohol controls them and they depend on the alcohol. Most alcoholics realize this long (years and years) before they get help. It is unfair and deceptive to lump alcoholics and cancer patients together.
Let me put it this way, if a cancer patient took a pill everyday, and the doctors said "this pill you are taking is causing your cancer. If you stopped taking this pill, you'd get better," then you bet your ass people would ask cancer patients "why are you doing this?" too.
A couple of weeks ago I went into the liquor store to buy a bottle of wine. As I was checking out, I noticed the man behind me setting a bottle of cheap bourbon on the counter- plastic, gallon-size, bottom-of-the-barrel, couldn't have cost more than $11. He had the shakes. His face was bloated and his skin was pocked, wrinkled, and scarred. His nose was bulbous and red. He wore dirty khaki pants and a red plaid shirt. He looked 70, but I'd guess he was probably closer to 50. He had a look of pain on his face as he pushed his bottle to the cashier. She smiled at him nonchalantly as she read his total and bagged his bottle.
I thought to myself "how can you live with yourself?" and I wasn't thinking about the man, I was thinking about the cashier.
It's illegal for doctors to give an obvious drug addict pills, so why is it legal for a clerk in a liquor store to sell an alcoholic booze? I know there are obvious answers here, but if you think about it, it's really not that different. A doctor would refuse to prescribe medication based on the patient's behavior and demeanor - I guess he could run a tox screen, but I doubt that happens in these situations. Doctors make a judgement call based on experience. Why is it that supplying an addict with their drug of choice is illegal in most situations, but commonplace in others?
I'm not condemning that clerk, or any clerk, nor am I condemning the tens of thousands of bartenders who knowingly and unknowingly pour drinks for alcoholics each year. I am pointing out that we live in a society riddled with not only addiction, but hypocrisy.
I know prohibition is a bad idea. I know prohibition will never work. But come on, the U.S. is so tough on drugs based on this notion that they are bad for the people who take them, and bad for the people who are affected by the people who take them. What about alcohol?
Throughout my years, and the comings and goings of various friends of mine, I have always known people who were touched by alcoholism, whether personally or in their immediate family. I've also known numerous people related to, or affected by other types of drug abuse (my freshman year of college the girl who lived across the hall from me dropped out after developing a heroin addiction).
That number would be exponentially larger if I counted non-nuclear family members and friends. The times when we've talked about it, the conversations were almost always preceeded by tears and painful memories or recountings of interactions with their drunk loved one. Alcoholics cause the people around them infinite pain. They harm and harden good and loving people. They ruin the lives of their families and friends. And they don't care.
Most alcoholics will insist that they do care, but alcoholics are constant liars. Sarah repeated the old adage, "How can you tell if an alcohlic is lying? Her lips are moving." And that's the truth. She admitted, and who knows how long it took her to admit this, that when she was drinking she didn't care about anything. She didn't care about her husband or her children. She admitted she didn't care about her children. I imagine that's the case for most alcoholics. Many arguments end with the impassioned cry "You wouldn't do this if you cared about me!" to the addict. Make some minor modifications and that statement becomes the question and the answer: You do this, and you don't care about me.
Once you come to this realization, dealing with the addict becomes easier, but not any less hard (and I realize this statement is a contradiction, but if you've had any experience with an addict, you know what I mean).
I asked Sarah how she finally decided to seek help, and she told me that her sister came to visit (her family lived across the country) right after she (Sarah) had been prescribed valium for her "nerves" (she used air quotes when she recounted this). Later that day, after Sarah drank some vodka (she doesn't know how much) and took a valium, her sister found her in a coma. Sarah said that she wasn't trying to kill herself, but at that point she really didn't care if she died.
After that, her sister told her parents and her husband and they all got together to try to help her. When she was faced with losing her children, she finally pulled herself together enough to go to rehab. She explained that it wasn't so much the thought of losing her kids that motivated her, but the thought of what people would say about her if she lost her kids. I guess when love isn't enough, societal judgement is.
Not too long ago, I was riding in the car with someone (I don't remember who) who said "I don't think I could be friends with someone who uses cocaine." I laughed immediately and said "You are friends with people who use cocaine, and you don't know it." She eyed me suspiciously.
"No, not me."
"Who?"
"I don't know, but I guarentee you know at least one person who uses cocaine either recreationally or abusively. You probably know lots of them."
The same is true with alcoholics, except multiply that number by 10. Or more realistically, 50.
I know this sounds dire, but this will never get better until people start recognizing the reality of the situation. If you see someone with a problem, don't ignore it. Say something. Say something to that person, or their parents, or their friends, or their spouse. Admitting there is a problem really is the first step.
I think about how different Sarah's life could have been if her sister had visited a year or two earlier. She might not have cerosis. She might not have osteoporosis. She might not have lost her marriage of 8 years (and her relationship with her husband of 16 years). I'm glad she told me her story, and in honor of her courage and her efforts to right those wrongs she committed so many years ago, but still haunt her, I promise that I will not keep quiet any longer.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Things That Make Me Happy
1) The sound my dog makes when she eats cereal I've dropped on the floor
2) My first sip of green tea when it's a little too hot, but not too hot to drink.
3) Waking up in the middle of the night and being COLD. I'm always hot when I sleep, so being cold when I sleep is the greatest.
4) Cherry vanilla soy cream (especially the chunks of cherry).
5) Riding my bicycle on any summer day, and especially any summer night.
6) Being thirsty and remembering that I carry my Nalgene everywhere with me.
7) Walking through Schenley Park late at night (and especially going to my secret place in the park).
8) Going to the outdoor movies in Schenley during the summer (even crappy movies are great when you're lying on a picnic blanket and eating a Scooter Crunch).
9) When the police chopper flies overhead during the movies and the lights startle everyone and you catch a glimpse of faces that are otherwise invisible in the darkness
10) Being surprised with dinner when I get home frome work
11) Being reminded that my old friends still think about me
12) Great Lake Swimmers
13) Peepers (they're really summer frogs, but I call them peepers).
14) The tradition of making homemade sangria every summer, and then having an excuse to invite my close friends over to share it with me (usually for several weekends in a row).
15) The homamade apple cider tradition that we started this year.
16) Dicsovering that allspice comes from a berry! (courtesy of the cider recipe)
17) Hearing my Grandaddy's voice
18) Remembering the way my grandpa laughed when he watched Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
19) Getting enough sleep
20) Picnics - even if they're only with canned tuna and pieces of cheese.
21) Swinging on the swingset at Anderson playground
22) Getting at least 8 hours of sleep
23) Running a good 3 miles and having the energy to run more
24) Christmas lights (especially those on the Ronald McDonald houses).
25) Laying on a blanket on the beach and falling asleep in the sun.
26) Forcing my fellow vacationers to turn off the central air in the beach house and taking it back old school by opening up all of the windows and turning on all of the ceiling fans.
27) Salad with homemade ginger dressing
28) Salad with Greek dressing (especially from Ali Baba and Aladdin's)
29) Any fresh salad!
30) To be continued (refer to #19).
2) My first sip of green tea when it's a little too hot, but not too hot to drink.
3) Waking up in the middle of the night and being COLD. I'm always hot when I sleep, so being cold when I sleep is the greatest.
4) Cherry vanilla soy cream (especially the chunks of cherry).
5) Riding my bicycle on any summer day, and especially any summer night.
6) Being thirsty and remembering that I carry my Nalgene everywhere with me.
7) Walking through Schenley Park late at night (and especially going to my secret place in the park).
8) Going to the outdoor movies in Schenley during the summer (even crappy movies are great when you're lying on a picnic blanket and eating a Scooter Crunch).
9) When the police chopper flies overhead during the movies and the lights startle everyone and you catch a glimpse of faces that are otherwise invisible in the darkness
10) Being surprised with dinner when I get home frome work
11) Being reminded that my old friends still think about me
12) Great Lake Swimmers
13) Peepers (they're really summer frogs, but I call them peepers).
14) The tradition of making homemade sangria every summer, and then having an excuse to invite my close friends over to share it with me (usually for several weekends in a row).
15) The homamade apple cider tradition that we started this year.
16) Dicsovering that allspice comes from a berry! (courtesy of the cider recipe)
17) Hearing my Grandaddy's voice
18) Remembering the way my grandpa laughed when he watched Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
19) Getting enough sleep
20) Picnics - even if they're only with canned tuna and pieces of cheese.
21) Swinging on the swingset at Anderson playground
22) Getting at least 8 hours of sleep
23) Running a good 3 miles and having the energy to run more
24) Christmas lights (especially those on the Ronald McDonald houses).
25) Laying on a blanket on the beach and falling asleep in the sun.
26) Forcing my fellow vacationers to turn off the central air in the beach house and taking it back old school by opening up all of the windows and turning on all of the ceiling fans.
27) Salad with homemade ginger dressing
28) Salad with Greek dressing (especially from Ali Baba and Aladdin's)
29) Any fresh salad!
30) To be continued (refer to #19).
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
List of Pet Peeves/Annoyances
About nine months ago, I started a list of things that annoy me, while visiting family with my Dad. I only added five things to the list, but a few weeks ago I guess you could say I was in the "annoyance zone" because they came quickly, like channel 11 news anchors to a fire. Any fire. The results were surprising, and more poetic than I would have anticipated. Here goes nothing:
Pet Peeves/Annoyances
* - If you are in absolute shock right now, read my blog "Public Service Announcement"
**-It may sound like I'm being defensive, and maybe I am, but I have these friends who moved from this boho city, to another boho city, and think it's fantastic simply because it's different - (and I bet this happens everywhere). Baltimore kills me - Oh you moved to a formerly industrial city, trying to forge a new image, with a famous hospital, a surprisingly vibrant arts community, and a football team that sometimes struggles, and sometimes kicks ass? CRAZY. Next thing you know you're gonna tell me that it has an ivy-caliber university (that isn't an ivy) and some amazing aquarium, or zoo!
-In another vein, I've encountered people who can't seem to consider themselves successful as human beings unless they have lived in, or near, New York City. I feel sorry for them. I think you appreciate New York the most when you want to be there, not when you are afraid to be somewhere else.
Pet Peeves/Annoyances
1) Sassy speed limit signs i.e. those in Montgomery Village. (At the time, I drew a picture of the signs in my notebook - the Arabic numerals look as though they were written by a carefree, self-assured architect signing a check. They are like italics, but only if "italics" could drink apple-tinis and then criticize your outfit.
2) Saying "heidgth" or "heigth" instead of "height"
3) Houses with brick front and vinyl siding - who are you fooling? (And no, this isn't a result of snobbery. Houses with all vinyl or wooden siding look fine, it's the literal facade of brick that kills me.)
4) When people say "foward" instead of "forward"
5) The way my dad says "wah wah wah" like a baby, when I'm complaining about something.
6)Super passive-aggressive conversations that culminate with the phrase "can you repeat the question?"
7)Eudora
8) Trying to do anything logical or practical in Excel. Not gonna happen.
9) "Lil" - in any place, or any context; at any time, and before, or after, any word or phrase.
10)People who whole-heartedly (and often passionately) believe that freedom of speech only applies to thing they like to hear, want to hear, or agree with.
11)People who think "Hair of the Dog," by Nazareth is "Son of a Bitch," by AC/DC.*
12) People who assume Pittsburgh can't possibly be cool because they grew up there/nearby.
13) People who assume that people who stay in Pittsburgh do so out of some short-coming, failure, or fear - and not out of choice.**
14) Getting an earache from sitting in a smokey bar too long.
15) The (proposed?) smoking ban. It's a slippery slope. If the government is truly concerned about the harmful effects of smoking, they ought to ban cigarettes. Until that day comes, I'd encourage you to wonder who is lobbying for these freedom-reducing measures (and they are, crazy as that sounds), and wonder if isn't some powerhouse health care provider, interested in decreasing the amount they have to spend on health care coverage for smokers...
16) Non-profits that turned half of one billion dollars in profit last year.
17) Take a minute to think about that.
18) People who walk on the dunes and wonder why their $8 million cottage washed away in "hurricane nickelback" last year.
19) People who walk on the dunes (period).
20) Nickelback.
21) That bald ADA who made a snide comment about my job when I was summoned as a juror in a murder case.
22) Getting a 76 cent travel stipend added onto my $9 jury pay, when the city government knows very well that it costs $1.75 to ride the bus to the courthouse, and $1.75 to ride the bus home from the courthouse (and at least - and I am being so generous here - $5 to if you decide to drive, and then park downtown).
23) Having a chat with a guy who likely shot someone in the face, so he can assess my character.
24) Realizing I don't actually believe people are innocent until proven guilty.
25) Knowing people assume what my political affiliations are, based on some of my favorite books (1, 2, 3, label me!).
26) Having my political affiliation changed on my voter registration because some db begged me to sign a phony petition because I was his "last signature" and if I signed he could "go home."
27) That smug girl who said I should have known better.
28) Knowing I should have known better.
29) Anyone who has ever stolen anything from their mother.
30) Cutting my fingers when I'm eating whole crabs and then getting old bay seasoning in the little cuts.
31) Cold wind blowing up my skirt.
32) Pantyhose. Ugh.
33) Second-hand smoke in my hair. (And see, I still don't support the smoking ban!)
34) Young politicians with major responsibilities that fell into their lap, who seriously abuse their new-found power. But I'm not mentioning any names or anything.
35) Julia Roberts
36) The fact that Julia Roberts named her twins Phinnaeus and Hazel
37) The fact that I know that.
38) Dave Grohl
39) Ergo, the Foo Fighters
40) Also, the bass player from the Goo Goo Dolls
41) People who make both Cs soft in words that start with a double C - ie "a-sess-ory" instead of "ack-sess-ory."
42) Colbie Caillat. What kind of self-respecting adult uses the phrases "silly place," "crinkle my nose," and "bubbly face," in a song that isn't written for children?
43) The fact that, in June, I called DPW, my state representative, and the mayor's 311 help line, about a SINK HOLE in front of my house. And today, December 11th, a guy from a sewerage company came to my house and told me he was trying to establish the cause of said sink hole, and could I please flush some dye down my toilet (and remember to flush twice).
44) People who don't use their turn signals
45) People who honestly believe that using their turn signals will "give away [their] next move." (I'm talking to you, paternal nuclear family member who shall remain nameless.)
46) People who complain too much
47) When my dog headbutts me in the shnoz.
-More to come someday, I'm sure.
2) Saying "heidgth" or "heigth" instead of "height"
3) Houses with brick front and vinyl siding - who are you fooling? (And no, this isn't a result of snobbery. Houses with all vinyl or wooden siding look fine, it's the literal facade of brick that kills me.)
4) When people say "foward" instead of "forward"
5) The way my dad says "wah wah wah" like a baby, when I'm complaining about something.
6)Super passive-aggressive conversations that culminate with the phrase "can you repeat the question?"
7)Eudora
8) Trying to do anything logical or practical in Excel. Not gonna happen.
9) "Lil" - in any place, or any context; at any time, and before, or after, any word or phrase.
10)People who whole-heartedly (and often passionately) believe that freedom of speech only applies to thing they like to hear, want to hear, or agree with.
11)People who think "Hair of the Dog," by Nazareth is "Son of a Bitch," by AC/DC.*
12) People who assume Pittsburgh can't possibly be cool because they grew up there/nearby.
13) People who assume that people who stay in Pittsburgh do so out of some short-coming, failure, or fear - and not out of choice.**
14) Getting an earache from sitting in a smokey bar too long.
15) The (proposed?) smoking ban. It's a slippery slope. If the government is truly concerned about the harmful effects of smoking, they ought to ban cigarettes. Until that day comes, I'd encourage you to wonder who is lobbying for these freedom-reducing measures (and they are, crazy as that sounds), and wonder if isn't some powerhouse health care provider, interested in decreasing the amount they have to spend on health care coverage for smokers...
16) Non-profits that turned half of one billion dollars in profit last year.
17) Take a minute to think about that.
18) People who walk on the dunes and wonder why their $8 million cottage washed away in "hurricane nickelback" last year.
19) People who walk on the dunes (period).
20) Nickelback.
21) That bald ADA who made a snide comment about my job when I was summoned as a juror in a murder case.
22) Getting a 76 cent travel stipend added onto my $9 jury pay, when the city government knows very well that it costs $1.75 to ride the bus to the courthouse, and $1.75 to ride the bus home from the courthouse (and at least - and I am being so generous here - $5 to if you decide to drive, and then park downtown).
23) Having a chat with a guy who likely shot someone in the face, so he can assess my character.
24) Realizing I don't actually believe people are innocent until proven guilty.
25) Knowing people assume what my political affiliations are, based on some of my favorite books (1, 2, 3, label me!).
26) Having my political affiliation changed on my voter registration because some db begged me to sign a phony petition because I was his "last signature" and if I signed he could "go home."
27) That smug girl who said I should have known better.
28) Knowing I should have known better.
29) Anyone who has ever stolen anything from their mother.
30) Cutting my fingers when I'm eating whole crabs and then getting old bay seasoning in the little cuts.
31) Cold wind blowing up my skirt.
32) Pantyhose. Ugh.
33) Second-hand smoke in my hair. (And see, I still don't support the smoking ban!)
34) Young politicians with major responsibilities that fell into their lap, who seriously abuse their new-found power. But I'm not mentioning any names or anything.
35) Julia Roberts
36) The fact that Julia Roberts named her twins Phinnaeus and Hazel
37) The fact that I know that.
38) Dave Grohl
39) Ergo, the Foo Fighters
40) Also, the bass player from the Goo Goo Dolls
41) People who make both Cs soft in words that start with a double C - ie "a-sess-ory" instead of "ack-sess-ory."
42) Colbie Caillat. What kind of self-respecting adult uses the phrases "silly place," "crinkle my nose," and "bubbly face," in a song that isn't written for children?
43) The fact that, in June, I called DPW, my state representative, and the mayor's 311 help line, about a SINK HOLE in front of my house. And today, December 11th, a guy from a sewerage company came to my house and told me he was trying to establish the cause of said sink hole, and could I please flush some dye down my toilet (and remember to flush twice).
44) People who don't use their turn signals
45) People who honestly believe that using their turn signals will "give away [their] next move." (I'm talking to you, paternal nuclear family member who shall remain nameless.)
46) People who complain too much
47) When my dog headbutts me in the shnoz.
-More to come someday, I'm sure.
* - If you are in absolute shock right now, read my blog "Public Service Announcement"
**-It may sound like I'm being defensive, and maybe I am, but I have these friends who moved from this boho city, to another boho city, and think it's fantastic simply because it's different - (and I bet this happens everywhere). Baltimore kills me - Oh you moved to a formerly industrial city, trying to forge a new image, with a famous hospital, a surprisingly vibrant arts community, and a football team that sometimes struggles, and sometimes kicks ass? CRAZY. Next thing you know you're gonna tell me that it has an ivy-caliber university (that isn't an ivy) and some amazing aquarium, or zoo!
-In another vein, I've encountered people who can't seem to consider themselves successful as human beings unless they have lived in, or near, New York City. I feel sorry for them. I think you appreciate New York the most when you want to be there, not when you are afraid to be somewhere else.
Friday, December 7, 2007
I'm trying to be heroic in an age of modernity*
This morning, while waiting to transfer to my second morning bus during a gusty snowfall, my friend from Elderberry Junction (the woman in my very first blog post) sidled into the bus shelter next to me. I haven't seen her in awhile, so I smiled at her and she smiled at me, and we waited for our bus in the blustery cold, occasionally glancing at one another, or at the sun that was just beginning to peak over the horizon. When the bus finally came, I dutifully ensured that she boarded just in front of me, so that I could support her if she needed a hand.
I feel a responsibility for her such that, if she knew, I know she would be offended. Despite this, when she clutched the standing bar at the front of the bus, rather than taking a very close vacant seat I said, "Don't you want to sit down?"
She hesitantly stepped forward (with me one step behind her), and before she began her second step, her feet went out from under her. It happened quickly and slowly at the same time. It was fast enough that I was startled and frightened, but slow enough that I had a chance to think and brace myself (despite the fact that I was wearing knee-high stiletto boots**) so that I could catch her without falling over myself.
The floor was so wet that even though I caught her, and stopped her from further falling, her feet kept sliding, so both of us were inching closer and closer to being parallel with the (very wet and dirty) floor. Two girls in nearby seats immediately lunged forward to help, and one of them said "you're okay" a few times in the most reassuring, yet pitiless voice I've ever heard. She had the tone so many doctors strive for, but can never deliver.
As the three of us finally righted ourselves, I felt proud of humanity at large. I see people do so many disgusting and heartless things sometimes that I've really come to appreciate it when strangers go beyond simply being civil to one another.
As the woman finished her trek to her seat she mumbled "that's why I didn't want to sit down in the first place" and I felt guilty and responsible. I felt like she was saying it to me. It's equally possible that it was just something to say after experiencing something embarassing (I think of how many times I've tripped and mumbled "stupid shoes" just in case anyone was within earshot), but it's just as possible that it really was directed to me and she was mad that I coaxed her into sitting.
Oh well. Maybe next time she won't sit, but for this time, I'm happy I caught her.
* this is a lyric from Bloc Party's song "Song for Clay: Disappear Here"
** No, I'm not a prostitute.
I feel a responsibility for her such that, if she knew, I know she would be offended. Despite this, when she clutched the standing bar at the front of the bus, rather than taking a very close vacant seat I said, "Don't you want to sit down?"
She hesitantly stepped forward (with me one step behind her), and before she began her second step, her feet went out from under her. It happened quickly and slowly at the same time. It was fast enough that I was startled and frightened, but slow enough that I had a chance to think and brace myself (despite the fact that I was wearing knee-high stiletto boots**) so that I could catch her without falling over myself.
The floor was so wet that even though I caught her, and stopped her from further falling, her feet kept sliding, so both of us were inching closer and closer to being parallel with the (very wet and dirty) floor. Two girls in nearby seats immediately lunged forward to help, and one of them said "you're okay" a few times in the most reassuring, yet pitiless voice I've ever heard. She had the tone so many doctors strive for, but can never deliver.
As the three of us finally righted ourselves, I felt proud of humanity at large. I see people do so many disgusting and heartless things sometimes that I've really come to appreciate it when strangers go beyond simply being civil to one another.
As the woman finished her trek to her seat she mumbled "that's why I didn't want to sit down in the first place" and I felt guilty and responsible. I felt like she was saying it to me. It's equally possible that it was just something to say after experiencing something embarassing (I think of how many times I've tripped and mumbled "stupid shoes" just in case anyone was within earshot), but it's just as possible that it really was directed to me and she was mad that I coaxed her into sitting.
Oh well. Maybe next time she won't sit, but for this time, I'm happy I caught her.
* this is a lyric from Bloc Party's song "Song for Clay: Disappear Here"
** No, I'm not a prostitute.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
You Can Choose Your Afterlife
Eric Gamalinda wrote a poem called "You Can Choose Your Afterlife," in his 1999 book, Zero Gravity. It is one of my very favorite books, and perhaps one of the most complete collections of poetry I have ever encountered*. In this poem, the speaker addresses a friend, real or created, who decided to take his own life:
---------------------------
"You Can Choose Your Afterlife"**
according to the strange customs
of the T'boli
who believe we are not judged
by good or evil
but by the kind of death
we meet: to die by the sword
is to enter the kingdom
where everything
even the sound of water
is red They welcome you there
with the tintinnabulation
of copper bells
and the lamentation
of bamboo violins
and all night long
a wounded sun hovers
over your place of business
And those who drown
return to the navel of the sea
(that's what they call it)
where they become subjects
of Fon Muhin, god
of all creatures
who breathe water And those
who die of sickness
go to Mogul
where they receive everything
they've always desired
but are not free of suffering
And those who kill themselves
go to a place exactly like earth
but where everything sways
even in sleep
Arne you didn't tell us
why you wanted
to go
we can only imagine you
in a world where
you can't keep a cup
of coffee still
and people keep changing
the rules for soccer
because the ball
keeps rolling away
You won't miss us
everything moves in the same
direction You were always
one step ahead
---------------------------
I think about this poem a lot, particularly the line in which the speaker first addresses his friend, Arne; "Arne, you didn't tell us/ why you wanted/ to go"
The speaker is so obviously at peace with the lack of closure in this situation. He doesn't know why Arne took his own life, but he's not going to spend the rest of his life trying to figure it out. I have spent many hours wondering about questions I'll never be able to answer. I haven't made peace with many of them, but it's an ongoing quest.
We, humans, have the desire to know why. Why did it happen? Why did they do it? We'll never know. But that's not the point of this poem.
This is a poem about empowerment. In death, in which most of us imagine that we have no choice, Gamalinda is positing that maybe, in some ways, we do have a choice.
The answer to the riddle of Arne's suicide is hidden in these stanzas, but the answer is something that pertains to much more than suicide, or death. This isn't a poem about death. This is a poem about choice. If you have can choose your afterlife, then your possibilities in life are endless.
You can choose anything.
*I have a system of grading poetry; it's somewhat elementary and childish, but it works very well for me. I put a star on poems I like, a check next to poems I have read (let's call them neutral), and a "re." on poems I don't understand the first time through; this way, when I re-read a book, I know which to give special attention ("re."), which to give another shot (check), and which are already favorites (star). This means that, to me, the mark of a truly "good" collection (in a very generic sense, and barring any poet's collected works) is the ratio of stars to the total number of poems. By this reasoning, any ratio of 1:2 or higher is "good." I starred 26 of the 34 poems in this book on the first reading (and if I were to re-do my marks now, I'd star them all).
**Eric Gamalinda, I fully acknowledge that I have absolutely no permission to reprint any of your work in part, or in whole. However, I must warn you that if you contact me asking me to remove your work, you are going to subject yourself to a barrage of questions filled with breathless adulation, and a standing invitation to every one of my birthday parties.
---------------------------
"You Can Choose Your Afterlife"**
according to the strange customs
of the T'boli
who believe we are not judged
by good or evil
but by the kind of death
we meet: to die by the sword
is to enter the kingdom
where everything
even the sound of water
is red They welcome you there
with the tintinnabulation
of copper bells
and the lamentation
of bamboo violins
and all night long
a wounded sun hovers
over your place of business
And those who drown
return to the navel of the sea
(that's what they call it)
where they become subjects
of Fon Muhin, god
of all creatures
who breathe water And those
who die of sickness
go to Mogul
where they receive everything
they've always desired
but are not free of suffering
And those who kill themselves
go to a place exactly like earth
but where everything sways
even in sleep
Arne you didn't tell us
why you wanted
to go
we can only imagine you
in a world where
you can't keep a cup
of coffee still
and people keep changing
the rules for soccer
because the ball
keeps rolling away
You won't miss us
everything moves in the same
direction You were always
one step ahead
---------------------------
I think about this poem a lot, particularly the line in which the speaker first addresses his friend, Arne; "Arne, you didn't tell us/ why you wanted/ to go"
The speaker is so obviously at peace with the lack of closure in this situation. He doesn't know why Arne took his own life, but he's not going to spend the rest of his life trying to figure it out. I have spent many hours wondering about questions I'll never be able to answer. I haven't made peace with many of them, but it's an ongoing quest.
We, humans, have the desire to know why. Why did it happen? Why did they do it? We'll never know. But that's not the point of this poem.
This is a poem about empowerment. In death, in which most of us imagine that we have no choice, Gamalinda is positing that maybe, in some ways, we do have a choice.
The answer to the riddle of Arne's suicide is hidden in these stanzas, but the answer is something that pertains to much more than suicide, or death. This isn't a poem about death. This is a poem about choice. If you have can choose your afterlife, then your possibilities in life are endless.
You can choose anything.
*I have a system of grading poetry; it's somewhat elementary and childish, but it works very well for me. I put a star on poems I like, a check next to poems I have read (let's call them neutral), and a "re." on poems I don't understand the first time through; this way, when I re-read a book, I know which to give special attention ("re."), which to give another shot (check), and which are already favorites (star). This means that, to me, the mark of a truly "good" collection (in a very generic sense, and barring any poet's collected works) is the ratio of stars to the total number of poems. By this reasoning, any ratio of 1:2 or higher is "good." I starred 26 of the 34 poems in this book on the first reading (and if I were to re-do my marks now, I'd star them all).
**Eric Gamalinda, I fully acknowledge that I have absolutely no permission to reprint any of your work in part, or in whole. However, I must warn you that if you contact me asking me to remove your work, you are going to subject yourself to a barrage of questions filled with breathless adulation, and a standing invitation to every one of my birthday parties.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Long ago, I had a question for everything...
Two nights ago I found out that my friend's older brother died tragically young in a car accident. I didn't know his older brother well, but there was a time when I was very close with my friend. Anytime I hear that anyone I know has died, my heart wrenches in my chest with all too much familiarity.
I called my father to tell him I'd be coming home sometime soon. He asked me why, and when I told him that I had to attend a viewing he responded, "Jesus, again?"
My father is not a cold man; he was expressing genuine shock. He went on to say, "You must have been to 10 times as many funerals as me." (The knowledge that my father is 40 years older than I am was implicit to both of us.)
I, and my group of friends, have lost more young people - far more young people- than any other person my age that I know, or have heard of. Most of our friends and acquaintances have died in car accidents - all of them have died tragically young.
We're not a reckless group of people. We're not a bad group of people. Some of our friends were risk-takers, others were incredibly responsible and cautious. Some of their deaths may have been preventable (but how can you even measure such a thing?) and others definitely were not.
The only thing our friends had in common, aside from dying too young, is us. I know it has crossed all of our minds - that there is some connection between the deaths, or some "curse" among us. Everyone knows it's ridiculous and untrue, but still you reach a point where logic and emotion blur together, and when what once seemed completely irrational, begins to seem the only logical explantion - well, let's just say there are only some manys ways to put the pieces of a puzzle together.
I mourn this loss, and all of the other losses. My heart goes out to you, Eric. My heart goes out to you, and your family, and your friends, and your fiance.
Eric Gamalinda wrote:
"Long ago I had a question for everything
but now I know better: everything goes
and only the questions remain."
And so far, this is the only truth I know.
I called my father to tell him I'd be coming home sometime soon. He asked me why, and when I told him that I had to attend a viewing he responded, "Jesus, again?"
My father is not a cold man; he was expressing genuine shock. He went on to say, "You must have been to 10 times as many funerals as me." (The knowledge that my father is 40 years older than I am was implicit to both of us.)
I, and my group of friends, have lost more young people - far more young people- than any other person my age that I know, or have heard of. Most of our friends and acquaintances have died in car accidents - all of them have died tragically young.
We're not a reckless group of people. We're not a bad group of people. Some of our friends were risk-takers, others were incredibly responsible and cautious. Some of their deaths may have been preventable (but how can you even measure such a thing?) and others definitely were not.
The only thing our friends had in common, aside from dying too young, is us. I know it has crossed all of our minds - that there is some connection between the deaths, or some "curse" among us. Everyone knows it's ridiculous and untrue, but still you reach a point where logic and emotion blur together, and when what once seemed completely irrational, begins to seem the only logical explantion - well, let's just say there are only some manys ways to put the pieces of a puzzle together.
I mourn this loss, and all of the other losses. My heart goes out to you, Eric. My heart goes out to you, and your family, and your friends, and your fiance.
Eric Gamalinda wrote:
"Long ago I had a question for everything
but now I know better: everything goes
and only the questions remain."
And so far, this is the only truth I know.
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