I took dad to the bookstore the other day.  He's always told me his books are his friends since he doesn't have any close friends.  The last time I took him there, he leaned on his cane as he crouched gingerly looking for books that would interest him.  He hated the cane and didn't want to use his walker.  He staunchly declared "I'm not like those other old folks."  I would suffer minor heart attacks as he shakily bent over and peer at the titles.  This time though, he came prepared with a list.  I was surprised.  We soon found a salesperson and my dad gave her the list.

The list was carefully written with his must have books by 10 authors.  He was also clear that if that book wasn't available, he would consider others.  The sales clerk looked at the list.  The first name was Albert Camus.  She asked "Albert Camus is the first author?"  "Yes, Alber-kamu", my dad gently corrected her (and me too).  She went to the computer and searched.  His handwriting was clear despite a couple of fingers gnarled by arthritis.  I see the others on the list  Descartes, Gibbon, Cicero and more.   While I recognized some of the names - the others were a mystery to me and I have already forgotten them by now.  I feel like such an illiterate idiot.  

Some of the books were at the store and some weren't.  She went to the shelves to get the books while we sat down and returned within a few minutes.  He got his prized "The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire - Volume 1 to 6".  I warned him that the price was a bit steep (over $150 for the 6 volumes).  But he said it's six books so it's not that bad.  I lugged the books with one hand, held his arm with the other and we both shuffled over to the cashier.  The bill was over $200.  He feigned surprise and hinted at a seniors discount.  I almost told the clerk that he buys these books with what's left from his measly pension.  He pulled out his Amex and signed it with a deep sigh.  But I knew he was almost giddy with joy. 

As soon as we got home, I put the books on the table by his chair.  Within minutes, he pounced on the first book.  I went off to the kitchen to make dinner for him.  During dinner, he told me about the author Edward Gibbon.  He practically gave me his bio.  I checked online afterwards and was it matched.  He has a lot of books so I asked him if he might already have these books somewhere.  He said he didn't.  He told me he came across an article about one of the books and realized how much he wanted to read them.  He said a lot of these books are classics that scholars have prized.  He was kicking himself for not getting these books earlier.  I keep thinking though that he probably has some of these books before.  But I didn't really mind.  I realized in some ways, this was his bucket list and he was happy getting these books.

He lamented to me that none of his neighbours were serious scholars and readers.  After dinner, I washed the dishes while he went back to the living room sofa to be with his new friends.

I was at the Chinese supermarket the other day and ran into the same clerk (the one who seems to only speaks Mandarin).  See here for my previous encounter:  http://elusivewords.xanga.com/748874894/a-minority-within-a-minority/.  In my broken Cantonese, I asked for 7 chicken legs.  He looked puzzled.  I said "7" in English and then Mandarin and held up 7 fingers.  He nodded and went to fill the plastic bag.  I took a quick look at the meat section to see what else I needed.  When I turned back he was still filling the plastic bag.  I thought that was odd and when he lifted the plastic bag onto the scale, it was jammed pack with chicken legs.  I didn't know what to do when he handed it to me.  I just took it and placed it in the cart.  I figured I would not be able to make myself understood. When I got home, I counted 17 chicken legs.  I put some in my stockpot and the rest in the freezer.

While my fragmented Cantonese and almost non existent Mandarin is a minor inconvenience at grocery stores here, I'm sure it will get me into trouble if I was in China.  I can just imagine myself at a gay bar, surrounded by curious Chinese gays who aren't sure what to make of me.

I'm sure at some point in the night, fueled by hormones and alcohol, someone will ask me "So how big is your thing?"

I proudly declare in Mandarin "It's 7 inches."  (please note - this part of the entry is completely fictitious). 

"Ai ya!  17 inches?" 

I smile and nod politely because I won't have a clue what he said.

I'm sure the rest of the evening will just be a disaster.  When I leave the gay bar, I'll run into the clerk from the supermarket and he'll be laughing at me. 

I feel as if I got a nice little coffee shop here in Xanga. Some days I'm open for business and people drop in. Of course,  I'll be the guy in the back room, with sunglasses and a disguise.  After all, I'm anonymous.  Most days (especially lately), the shop is closed but people still wander by to see if I'm around.  They will knock at the door, peer through the windows and wonder what is going on. 

It's a nice community here.  When I need support, you don't hesitate to give me encouragement, advice, a gentle nudge, a prayer or two, a pat in the back, a hug and a supporting shoulder to lean on.  Sometimes when I'm not blogging, I'll get a message or email asking if things are ok.  It's a wonderful and supportive gang here at Xanga. 

Despite not knowing who I am, you don't hesitate to cheer me on.  I don't know what to make of it sometimes.  I have nothing to compare it to in real life.  Sometimes in the middle of the day, I'll stop and wonder about certain folks in Xanga - especially if they are going through some tough times.  I wonder if they are coping with the challenges from life.  We know life can be unfair. 

Work has eased up just a bit.  After working almost 7 days a week for a few weeks, I'm starting to reduce my weekend hours.  The pressure at work continues.  Any mistakes that people make get amplified and distorted.  The culture of fear and pessimism is getting a foothold.  I try not to let it get to me but inevitably it does.  

But it's nice to know I have a lot of support here.  I'm thankful and grateful. 

Thank you for your support and encouragement.  This Xanga community has always been able to make me smile.  It has been a very difficult and tense few weeks at work.  It looks like it will continue for quite some time.  To sum it up, my manager and I don't get along anymore.  I've worked my ass off these past few weeks including weekends.  I even skipped dinner with my dad last Sunday.  But I did swing by to say hi and picked up some dimsum for him.  This weekend was my first Saturday off although I did put in a couple of hours. 

But every day is just filled with anxiety.  Ever since I was a kid, my stomach would get upset if I was tense and anxious.  My stomach still treats me like a kid.

But really, all I can do is just be professional, do my best and stay positive.  A change will be good. 

I will try to catch up on your updates. 

It's pretty rough right now at work.  Every so often things get pretty stressful and my mgm't team gets on my case.  I worked over the weekend to try and catch up.  Alas, there just aren't enough hours during the day.  I finished my last meeting today after 10PM... on a Sunday night.  I have to constantly remind myself not to get too stressed out.  Work doesn't define who I am.  Even if my management team doesn't acknowledge any of my contributions, I have good team members that see it.  

There are many others who have it worse than I do. I dig deep into the grave yard of my memory and see other awful work experiences.  I've survived those and I'll find a way to survive these and the ones to come.  But I also recognize I have my limits. 

Today as I was helping dad out the door for our Sunday dinner, my sister wanted us to wait for the washing machine to finish.  I ask her how much longer.  She tells me she just started.  I grit my teeth and tell her impatiently that I have a meeting tonight.  We need to get going so I can call in on time.  She muttered something and turned off the washing machine.  During dinner, dad was quieter than usual.  But he's always quiet when my sister is around.  I ordered enough food to fill our small table.  He told me earlier he only had a light lunch and was hungry.  Yet he barely touched his rice and nibbled on some food.  I'm a fast eater so I always finish before him.  But tonight, it was his turn to wait for me to finish.  He insisted on getting the bill and I wasn't about to argue.  As we left I realized why he didn't eat that much.  He didn't want to hold me up from my meeting. 

Between guilt and stress, I'm sure I'll wither away soon. 

I'm in a tight black leather outfit with straps on my hands and legs.  My mouth is gagged, my eyes are blindfolded and I'm ready.  The whips, the wax and wailings.  Bring it on.  I don't care anymore.  My skin is red, the sweat makes the scars sting even more.  Red wax, white wax, blue wax... they all drip over me while I scream in pain.  Red, white and blue - appropriate since my parent company is an American company.  It's just another day at work.  Bound, defeated, savaged and muted... (what do they spell?).  It's another long day.  Tonight I sleep.  Tomorrow I pull on my leather outfit and start afresh. 

Ok it's not that bad.  It just feels that way.  I look for the little joys in life to balance things.  At the supermarket the other day, I passed by the baby food section.  I see a little baby boy squatting on the floor.  He is focused on the tiny bottles of baby food and carefully reaches for them with his right hand.  I pause to watch.  His mom hovers nearby watching him and trying to listen to the father yakking away.  I look back at the boy.  His right arm is still fully extended but he looks stumped.  I wonder if he is trying to figure out how to retrieve it without bringing down the whole display.  I smile and walk away.  When I leave the store I run into the mom and the baby again.  She's carrying the child. I nod and smile at her.  She smiles back proudly.  It's like watching an old fashioned silent movie. 

I wish I could take pictures of these little events of humanity.

I was roasting some chicken legs the other day.  I usually pull the meat out and use the bones for stock.  I saved most of the meat for my dad and my sister.  This is what I usually do on Sundays.  I try to make one meal and/or one soup (usually Chinese soups) for them.  It saves both of us a bit of time during the weekday.  As I peeled the chicken skin off, I noticed how the skin was nicely browned.  I knew it would taste good.  It was just salt, pepper, garlic powder and a bit of paprika.  I drizzled some olive oil on it as well.  Although I let the chicken rest for about 10 minutes, it was still hot.  Almost all of the fat from the skin was already rendered. I was so tempted to just try one. I just have this weakness for crispy skin - e.g. the crunchy skin from a roast pork

But I've been trying to eat healthy foods lately.  I'm not always successful though.  But I knew if I ate the chicken skin it would just go to my waist.  So I use one of the oldest tricks in the book.  If I eat this, my dick will shrink.    That seemed to do the trick.  My male ego took control and said NO. I just took the skin, bones and used it to make chicken stock.  (I skim the oil off).  I worry though that at my next physical, my doctor will be thinking "I think Matt has been eating a lot of chicken skin."  Of course she's too polite to say anything to me.  It doesn't help that her office is right beside a Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet. 

The evil chicken skin:

Sorry for the juvenile entry.  My brain isn't functioning properly.

Today would have been Kelvin's 34th birthday.  I’ve written about him here.  He passed away 3 years ago, just 3 days shy of his birthday. I forgot it was his birthday until I got one of those birthday reminders.  I didn't even remember putting a reminder.  But I haven't forgotten about him.  It must seem strange that I can call someone a friend even though I have never met that person.  But he was and I wished he was still around so I could wish him a Happy Birthday.  He didn't seem particularly bothered that I haven't met him.  To him, it was just a matter of time before we met up.  After awhile we just sort of developed a sense of mutual trust and respect. I think he knew how much I appreciated that friendship.  It's too bad I couldn't have told him that in person.   

Alas, friendships can be so fragile.  I do appreciate the community here.  You're supportive, funny and down to earth  And you folks think I'm a nice guy even though you've never met me.  I'm not really a nice guy ... just 1% of the time.  I could be some deranged stalker looking for my next victim.  But that would have reduced the number of subscribers & comments I receive. 

I feel lost.  Not physically ... but in this life.  I see others with a strong sense of purpose.  They know their mission in life.  They know what they are passionate about.  They understand what it takes to attain their goals. Not me... GPS or a map won't help if you don't know where you want to go.  I remember one of my earliest results from career counseling in high school.  It was one of those computerize systems.  It suggested I had an interest in farming or being a priest.  I didn't even like mowing the lawn or watering the house plants.  My guidance counselor was a priest (I went to a Catholic high school).  He was disappointed when I told him I wasn't interested. 

Corporate life has made me jaded and disillusioned.  Elder care has saddled me with a mixture of guilt, satisfaction, fear and sadness.  You're a child and a parent at the same time.  Sooner or later elder care and corporate life will no longer be an issue.  So what is next? 

You know what crystallized this entry?  It's this lovely little video I saw on another blog.

So what do you folks think I should do?  I feel like a ship without a harbour.  A plane without an airport. 

Maybe I'll do what this guy did.  I'll print out some of my entries and sell them.  Would you buy them?  I'll even autograph them for you.

One of my relatives came over for an extended visit and is staying with my brother.  My brother drove him to meet up with us for a family for dinner on the weekend.  I was surprised how good his English is compared to a couple of years ago.  He speaks French and I think a smattering of German.  Although he's 1/4 Chinese, he looks Caucasian with his light brown hair and neatly trimmed beard. My sister ordered sweet and sour chicken for him as it was his favorite.  He ate everything that came his way (fried oysters, efu-noodles, tofu and scallop in black bean sauce, beef in oyster sauce and of course rice).  He told us that he has rice twice a week at home along with Chinese style food. 

I thought about my other relatives on my dad's side and they are mixed (Caucasian, Filipino, Hawaiian, African American, Italian and of course Chinese).  We haven't had a family reunion for many years now.  We're pretty well scattered across the globe. But maybe it's time to get together again as so many of the older generation (my dad's generation) have passed way recently. 

My mom's family is from China and there hasn't been any mixed marriages (at least none that I'm aware of).  But many years ago, my mom told me about a relative she met when they were in China. This woman looked Caucasian.  The village they had lived in was by a sea port so it was rumored that the child was from a visiting sailor. Maybe this explains why my Cantonese is so poor & why I love pasta.  I have some Caucasian DNA in me. (just kidding... ). 

Something strange just happened as I was typing this.  I heard creaking noises behind me.  I know the hardwood floors will sometimes creak but it's creepy when I'm by myself.  I actually walked around the condo and heard it from my bedroom.  I think I'm going to be sleeping with the lights on tonight.  Now where did I put my teddy bear?