Everyone in his or her life has stolen at least one thing, no? I mean, to think that absolutely no one has ever slipped and committed that sin, whether it be with a stolen TV or a stolen piece of candy, is -- well it’s just absurd. But what’s less absurd is to think that you haven’t thought back on it. Some real blind thieves out there may have no moral conscience at all, and so they can steal like they can breathe in the fresh scent of a daisy on a casual walk through the park. Others are more morality-driven. One white lie and they fess up out of guilt (I assume they'll make up the worst poker players). Those who have a reason or a real justification for stealing? I describe them as morally-intertwined.
I don’t know about you, but if I find even just one ounce of a justification for what I’ve stolen – not that I steal a lot, and not that I steal anything substantial, or God-forbid, illegal – I feel guilty pretty easily. Yet, I guess that means that I spend half my time justifying myself. Just kidding (or am I??). Though I do believe that toilet paper, paper napkins and eating utensils (oh and occasionally tupperware) are always up for grabs on campus, given the increase in tuition we will have to pay next semester, eh hem.
But the other day, it wasn’t something or culinary or something dealing with toiletry that my sticky hands stumbled upon. The object was solidly rectangular, flexible and leafy: It was a chapter book. On the cover was written “Kurt Vonnegut, The Sirens of Titan”. Kurt Vonnegut. I have never read him before, though I have one of his books on my bookshelf (after going online one night, originally for homework purposes, I followed hyperlink after hyperlink until I found his name and the kinds of books he writes. That was enough to get me to buy one of his books, The Breakfast of Champions Or Goodbye Blue Monday, during a mega close-out sale in the Borders near my house). Kurt Vonnegut. That name caught my eye; not to mention the large signature ‘V’ that graces each of his books published by the “Delta paperbacks” company, that also caught my eye.
The book was lying on the table all alone, as if needing company – my company. It was deprived of the love and attention of the horny eyes of a voracious leisure reader, such as myself. My finger ran across the author’s name while my mouth instinctively uttered, “Kurt Vonnegut. You are in my room, yes. And here you are too. What are you doing here . . . .”
I flipped open to the first page of the first chapter. Intrigued, I was immediately intrigued. His style of writing was simple and yet provocative. Gosh I love that clash. I read the next page and a half. My hands moved the book more comfortably close to me. By page four my eyes read each line with quick intent and curiosity. Page six and the book was in my backpack as I was walking to my next class.
In my head: “I’ll say ten Hail Mary’s tonight. I’ll read it, and then return it to where I found it. That’s all. That’s not stealing; that’s borrowing. One quick fun ride. Lord knows I don’t have the money to buy the book myself, and I doubt that any libraries would have this book on the shelf. If by the time I’m done with it and I still feel guilty, I’ll go to confession. I’ll say, ‘Father, please forgive me for I have sinned: I’ve stolen another student’s book. I’ve read it, oh but, Father, at least I returned it. You gotta give me credit for that,’.”
I arrived to class a few minutes early, so I took out the Kurt Vonnegut book from my backpack and read the back cover:
The Sirens of Titan is an outrageous romp through space, time and morality. The richest, most depraved man on Earth, Malachi Constant, is offered a chance to take a space journey to distant worlds with a beautiful woman at his side. Of course there’s a catch to the invitation . . . and a prophetic vision about the purpose of human life that only Vonnegut has the courage to tell.
How are you not captivated?! Boy was my inner candle lit; this book’s appealing, I’ll admit!
Just from the title, The Sirens of Titan, I’m brought back to the musings I felt when I took a course on Classical Mythology where I learned about the sirens who tempted and almost seduced wily Odysseus. I’m also reminded of my astronomy courses since Titan is a moon of Saturn. Immediately I know this book is going to deal with themes outside of earthy existence, perhaps something higher, something spiritual and all-uniting. And the symbolism jumps out with the main character’s name – Malachi Constant. Constant! Could he represent the ever so constant time as humanity changes, evolves or degenerates alongside it? Or the constant pitfalls of humans as they face the inner turmoils of finding the purpose of human life? Malachi! I looked it up online and discovered that Malachi means ‘messenger of God.’ Is this protagonist representative of a messenger of God, sent to tell his fellow humans the precise reasons why God made them? What He expects them to do, to not do? My goodness, will Malachi Constant be a Christ figure as the book unfurls itself to my mind?
A must-read, if only time were unselfish! Needless to say, this will be the next book I’ll bring everywhere with me whenever I find little holes of free time. Although I usually read books that deal with love/relationships (yes, I must admit) and meanings discovered through every-day events and nuances, this sci-fi--slash--philosophical book has stolen me . . . or rather, I have stolen it lol.
Dear Student from whom I stole this book,
I’m sorry. I’ll return it to where you left it . . . maybe.
Most sincerely,
Me.
p.s. I’m sorry again and I hope you were almost done with it anyway.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Damn it. Who is she?
I was sitting down in the social and behavioral science building on campus, minding my business, doing some writing on my laptop, when a girl came up to me, all excited.
She was wearing shocking tight blue jeans and an orange shirt bursting with images of tribal huntsmen. Her black-brownish-though-dark-purple-in-the-light hair was tied back so that one streak of hair ran down her face, as if it wanted to stand out from the rest of her hair. Her eyes were surrounded by dark brown rectangular glasses that were light brown on the inside. She carried a laptop, two skinny purses (I doubt she had anything substantial in them) and a purple jacket with fur hood, on her person, as well as a skinny ring on her right ring-finger.
She came to my empty table, smiling almost out of breath, like a cute little puppy. “Hi! Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s you; it’s been a REALLY long time!”
“Um, hello. How’ve you been?” Damn it. Who is she?
“Oh, it’s been rough. I changed my major to the other one we were talking about way back when.” I couldn’t help it. I was extremely confused and she sensed it. “You know, the day when we were ‘just walking’. We didn’t have anything else to do that day.”
“Oh, of course I remember. Yeah, we were walking.” I DON’T RECALL ANY OF THIS. I closed my mouth shut to make sure I wouldn’t say anything stupid. I was trying to glean any information about who she was and how I was connected to her by focusing on this ensuing conversation and raking my brain for any memory, any recollection of her.
“Yeah.” She seemed like she was just beating around the bush. She really wanted to talk about something else. Suddenly, this burst out of her mouth: “Why didn’t you text me back? No message or anything!”
Now I’m in trouble. What did I do with her? I honestly can’t remember her in any part of my past. I mean I only have a very vague picture of her in my head, like the unbelievable shadows of de ja vu or a memory that you can tweak to the point where something totally false seems absolutely true after much time and thought into it. Or vice versa. Such vagueness leaves you unsatisfied and curious. I mean, to a point though.
Apparently we had exchanged numbers. Did I meet her during orientation when I was a freshman at Stony Brook? Was she in my high school? What kind of a relationship did we have? Were we really tight? What did we talk about when we were ‘walking’ and why did she seem to emphasize ‘walking’ as if it were a euphemism for something else?
And now, how was I supposed to respond to her? Why didn’t I text her back or something? How am I gonna get myself out of this one!?
“Um look,” – wait, what’s her name? – “look, I didn’t mean to not text you back. I think my phone broke and I lost all my contacts, including yours. I’m so sorry.” She gave me an angry face and seemed to be looking for answers. I couldn’t help but think, well, hey, you, so am I, whatever your name is! Yeah, that’s right, I’m just trying to figure out your name at this point! You don’t seem to have it written on any of your folders or anything you’re carrying!
Her face was heating up to a dark pink mixed with her brown skin. I saw it and suddenly felt bad that, while to me this encounter seemed like a guessing game, to her, I was affecting her emotions. Yes, the me of the present and the me of our past are placing an emotional toll on her now over-heating body. She pressed on. “But how about that letter I gave you the last day?”
Letter??? What letter? What was in that letter? Ok, now I was just about to give up. I was beginning to think she’s got the wrong person, but . . .
She continued. “Don’t tell me you lost the letter, Bernadette. You better make sure no one finds it.”
She knows my name – so we really DID have a history together. My God, what on earth did I do with her? What did she write to me in that letter? I hope it isn’t something people really shouldn’t see.
She was REALLY angry. I didn’t want her to make a scene. So I started shhh-ing her as politely as I could and asked if we could talk about this somewhere else.
She yelled back. “Bernadette Tinio! Don't you t try to leave me this time! Not without an explanation! You owe me that!”
I was scared out of my wits. So she knew myfirst and last name. Quit saying my name woman -- you're freaking me out!
Still, I really felt bad for her, for whatever wrong I did. I started to think that I’m a bad person. To hurt a girl? Me? Wow; I didn’t know I had it in me. But what the hell did I do??
This is what was going through my head:
1. She knows my name, which means she knows me. There aren’t too many people around Stony Brook named Bernadette. And certainly not Bernadette Tinio. But, she wasn’t using any nickname of mine. That means that we didn’t know each other long enough for her to adopt one of my nicknames. That could actually be my fault because I supposedly left her.
2. There is a letter involved. The contents of that letter are to be private. I have no clue what’s in that letter. Maybe details of a conversation we had? Details of something we did? She also said she gave me that letter on the last day. Last day of what? Last day of school? Of which year?
3. We walked all day together one day. Maybe the letter disclosed what we talked about during the walk? I have no idea where we walked, only that we had nothing else to do. Based on her body language, the walking might actually mean something else. Again, I wouldn’t know what that something was.
I didn’t want to fess up. No, I was too proud to give up my face. I felt like I was in this situation too deep. So confused but still rolling along, I told her, “Look, I’m really sorry for leaving you hanging last time we met.”
“No message, no text, no call!”
If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that sometimes, I’m really stress-intolerant. I mean this was just too much for me. And she was pushing it.
“I know, I know, I know. Again, I’m sorry. But I really have to get to class.” Did I really have class? Hell no. But I wanted to get out of there. I packed my stuff and was about to leave. Of course she wasn’t gonna let me go without one more outburst.
“You’re leaving again?!! When are you gonna learn?”
I was walking past her.
“Hey, I’m talking to you!” She put her hand on my shoulder. I continued to walk away. Just like what all those teachers in the past told me to do when facing ‘dangers’ like this. Just walk away. She surprised me with her grip though; she had the grip of a true mad girl. I mean mad, as in crazy. She was actually able to stop me, and walk in front of me so that her face was in front of mine. I braced myself for whatever verbal lashing she felt I deserved for always finding the right time to leave her.
Finally she said to my face, “FINE BERNADETTE, LEAVE AGAIN. F*** YOU!”
OH LORD. I looked around and people were staring. I didn’t care. I wanted to punch her. I REALLY, REALLY wanted to bash her head in -- not that I'm a violent person, but you'd want to bash her head in too if you were me at this point. But I held in my anger, which was fueled by her over-the-top annoying insistence of our shared past. Instead I just walked out of there making sure she heard the slam of the door.
I hoped to God I wouldn’t encounter her again. What on earth did we do together? And after this storm, I still don't know who she is! Who are you?? Well it doesn't matter 'cause I'll never know now. I just know that to me, she is my enemy and apparently, I am hers. And you know, come to think about it, I'M NOT SORRY for whatever it is I did. Maybe you deserved it -- I wouldn't be surprised, whoever you are!
She was wearing shocking tight blue jeans and an orange shirt bursting with images of tribal huntsmen. Her black-brownish-though-dark-purple-in-the-light hair was tied back so that one streak of hair ran down her face, as if it wanted to stand out from the rest of her hair. Her eyes were surrounded by dark brown rectangular glasses that were light brown on the inside. She carried a laptop, two skinny purses (I doubt she had anything substantial in them) and a purple jacket with fur hood, on her person, as well as a skinny ring on her right ring-finger.
She came to my empty table, smiling almost out of breath, like a cute little puppy. “Hi! Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s you; it’s been a REALLY long time!”
“Um, hello. How’ve you been?” Damn it. Who is she?
“Oh, it’s been rough. I changed my major to the other one we were talking about way back when.” I couldn’t help it. I was extremely confused and she sensed it. “You know, the day when we were ‘just walking’. We didn’t have anything else to do that day.”
“Oh, of course I remember. Yeah, we were walking.” I DON’T RECALL ANY OF THIS. I closed my mouth shut to make sure I wouldn’t say anything stupid. I was trying to glean any information about who she was and how I was connected to her by focusing on this ensuing conversation and raking my brain for any memory, any recollection of her.
“Yeah.” She seemed like she was just beating around the bush. She really wanted to talk about something else. Suddenly, this burst out of her mouth: “Why didn’t you text me back? No message or anything!”
Now I’m in trouble. What did I do with her? I honestly can’t remember her in any part of my past. I mean I only have a very vague picture of her in my head, like the unbelievable shadows of de ja vu or a memory that you can tweak to the point where something totally false seems absolutely true after much time and thought into it. Or vice versa. Such vagueness leaves you unsatisfied and curious. I mean, to a point though.
Apparently we had exchanged numbers. Did I meet her during orientation when I was a freshman at Stony Brook? Was she in my high school? What kind of a relationship did we have? Were we really tight? What did we talk about when we were ‘walking’ and why did she seem to emphasize ‘walking’ as if it were a euphemism for something else?
And now, how was I supposed to respond to her? Why didn’t I text her back or something? How am I gonna get myself out of this one!?
“Um look,” – wait, what’s her name? – “look, I didn’t mean to not text you back. I think my phone broke and I lost all my contacts, including yours. I’m so sorry.” She gave me an angry face and seemed to be looking for answers. I couldn’t help but think, well, hey, you, so am I, whatever your name is! Yeah, that’s right, I’m just trying to figure out your name at this point! You don’t seem to have it written on any of your folders or anything you’re carrying!
Her face was heating up to a dark pink mixed with her brown skin. I saw it and suddenly felt bad that, while to me this encounter seemed like a guessing game, to her, I was affecting her emotions. Yes, the me of the present and the me of our past are placing an emotional toll on her now over-heating body. She pressed on. “But how about that letter I gave you the last day?”
Letter??? What letter? What was in that letter? Ok, now I was just about to give up. I was beginning to think she’s got the wrong person, but . . .
She continued. “Don’t tell me you lost the letter, Bernadette. You better make sure no one finds it.”
She knows my name – so we really DID have a history together. My God, what on earth did I do with her? What did she write to me in that letter? I hope it isn’t something people really shouldn’t see.
She was REALLY angry. I didn’t want her to make a scene. So I started shhh-ing her as politely as I could and asked if we could talk about this somewhere else.
She yelled back. “Bernadette Tinio! Don't you t try to leave me this time! Not without an explanation! You owe me that!”
I was scared out of my wits. So she knew myfirst and last name. Quit saying my name woman -- you're freaking me out!
Still, I really felt bad for her, for whatever wrong I did. I started to think that I’m a bad person. To hurt a girl? Me? Wow; I didn’t know I had it in me. But what the hell did I do??
This is what was going through my head:
1. She knows my name, which means she knows me. There aren’t too many people around Stony Brook named Bernadette. And certainly not Bernadette Tinio. But, she wasn’t using any nickname of mine. That means that we didn’t know each other long enough for her to adopt one of my nicknames. That could actually be my fault because I supposedly left her.
2. There is a letter involved. The contents of that letter are to be private. I have no clue what’s in that letter. Maybe details of a conversation we had? Details of something we did? She also said she gave me that letter on the last day. Last day of what? Last day of school? Of which year?
3. We walked all day together one day. Maybe the letter disclosed what we talked about during the walk? I have no idea where we walked, only that we had nothing else to do. Based on her body language, the walking might actually mean something else. Again, I wouldn’t know what that something was.
I didn’t want to fess up. No, I was too proud to give up my face. I felt like I was in this situation too deep. So confused but still rolling along, I told her, “Look, I’m really sorry for leaving you hanging last time we met.”
“No message, no text, no call!”
If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that sometimes, I’m really stress-intolerant. I mean this was just too much for me. And she was pushing it.
“I know, I know, I know. Again, I’m sorry. But I really have to get to class.” Did I really have class? Hell no. But I wanted to get out of there. I packed my stuff and was about to leave. Of course she wasn’t gonna let me go without one more outburst.
“You’re leaving again?!! When are you gonna learn?”
I was walking past her.
“Hey, I’m talking to you!” She put her hand on my shoulder. I continued to walk away. Just like what all those teachers in the past told me to do when facing ‘dangers’ like this. Just walk away. She surprised me with her grip though; she had the grip of a true mad girl. I mean mad, as in crazy. She was actually able to stop me, and walk in front of me so that her face was in front of mine. I braced myself for whatever verbal lashing she felt I deserved for always finding the right time to leave her.
Finally she said to my face, “FINE BERNADETTE, LEAVE AGAIN. F*** YOU!”
OH LORD. I looked around and people were staring. I didn’t care. I wanted to punch her. I REALLY, REALLY wanted to bash her head in -- not that I'm a violent person, but you'd want to bash her head in too if you were me at this point. But I held in my anger, which was fueled by her over-the-top annoying insistence of our shared past. Instead I just walked out of there making sure she heard the slam of the door.
I hoped to God I wouldn’t encounter her again. What on earth did we do together? And after this storm, I still don't know who she is! Who are you?? Well it doesn't matter 'cause I'll never know now. I just know that to me, she is my enemy and apparently, I am hers. And you know, come to think about it, I'M NOT SORRY for whatever it is I did. Maybe you deserved it -- I wouldn't be surprised, whoever you are!
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