Monthly Archives: May 2020

Dad

papa and boo

Can I just say how grateful I am for my dad?
I mean, I am thinking daily, “Damn, I’m stuck here in Germany in this small apartment without any privacy, camping on the couch in the middle of the room.” True. There are no doors to close, and it’s a small one-bedroom apartment. Nowhere to hide from my dad’s loud snoring (or the even louder snoring of his cat for that matter). Nowhere to hide from the clattering of dishes when my dad (almost daily I might add) decides to unload the dishwasher right next to my ears at 7am…

Yet, while I’m feeling sorry for myself, I think again, yes, I’m camping in the middle of his living room. It’s been almost two months now… with no end in sight…
But, when I ask him, “Are you ok? This is your home. I know I’m disturbing your routine and there’s never a second for you to be alone. Let me know if it gets too much, ok?”, he just smiles and says, “I don’t mind. You can stay as long as you like.”

He doesn’t ask much of me either. I go shopping for us (“the fridge is so full,” he laughs) and I cook (“oh, spicy,” he says). In return, he takes out the garbage, and takes care of that dish washer.
He doesn’t ask me to do anything else, there are no conditions attached. We are just there, together for the moment, in the living room, him on one couch, me on the other, doing our separate things.

What would I do without him letting me stay here right now? I have no home to go to and my meager savings will barely keep me afloat for a couple of months if I have to pay any rent anywhere. And who knows when I’ll find employment again. It’s funny, too. Because, I rushed over here to make sure he is safe and to help him out in this global crisis. However, at the end of the day, it’s him, sharing his tiny living space so generously with me, who is saving my ass.

That being said, even before, his door was always open. What would we have done over the past decade, my partner and I, had he not sheltered us and helped us out financially over and over again? He took us in for months at a time when we needed a place to stay and shared all he had with us. He was there for us when no one else was. He was always happy to see us. And no matter how much he did for us, he never asked for anything in return. He was open-minded. Supportive. He never judged. He was just present, with his warm smile, accepting us as we were.

I probably don’t appreciate him enough. I know I criticize him way too often. I’m too impatient. Much better than I used to be, though. For that, I am grateful to my soulmate, who helped me see him through her eyes, and helped me realize that ancient past is just that – the past.

Most likely my dad will never see this post. I’ll make sure to tell him in person though, how much I appreciate him and all he’s done so selflessly for me, for us (when there was still an us).

This is what being family is all about, isn’t it? To be a safety net for each other. To be there for each other even if paths or opinions diverge. To care. To support. Unconditionally.
Thank you, Dad, for being in my life.

A Discounting Mechanism

WYGB_02585

Have any of you seen ‘Where’d You Go Bernadette’? I’ve wanted to watch it for a long time and finally got around to it last night. The intro really hit me , which is why I want to share it here with you:

“Have you ever heard that the brain is like a discounting mechanism? Say, someone gives you a present and it’s a diamond necklace and you open it and you love it. You’re all happy at first. Then the next day it still makes you happy. Although a bit less so. A year later you see the necklace and you think, “Oh, that old thing.”
And you know why your brain discounts things? It’s for survival. You need to be prepared for new experiences because they could signal danger.
Wouldn’t it be great if we could reset that since there aren’t a lot of saber-toothed tigers jumping out at us? Seems like a design flaw that our brain’s default settings signal danger and survival instead of something like joy or appreciation.
I think that’s what happened to my mom. She got so focused on picking up danger signals that her discounting mechanism forgot to see all the good stuff in her life. And maybe Dad had quit seeing the diamond necklace side of mom.”

I pinched the photograph from this interesting article in Architectural Digest https://www.architecturaldigest.com/story/whered-you-go-bernadette-movie-production-designer-interview

The Light

Candle by Eyasu Etsub on Unsplash

Photo by Eyasu Etsub on Unsplash

The light went out.

Thankfully, he had prepared for such emergencies.
He owned a flashlight. He was an organized guy.

Finding the nearest wall to lean on, he followed it towards the kitchen. Once there, his fingertips found the counter. They felt for the top drawer on the far left. Soon, the drawer handle rested firmly in the palm of his hand. Feeling the reassuring, cold steel, he pulled. The drawer opened. And yes, inside was the flashlight.

He turned it on and walked back towards the hallway. Grateful to have light again.
However, he had forgotten all about the garbage bag he had prepared for disposal. As he turned right towards the front door in the hallway, his gaze focused forward on the beam of light, he tripped over the large bag and fell. The flashlight hit the ground. The bulb broke. The light went out again.

As far as he remembered, there were matches and candles in one of the other kitchen drawers. He got up from the floor and kicked the air until he hit the garbage bag. It tumbled out of the way. His path now unobstructed, he felt his way back to the kitchen counter. Growing increasingly irritated, he opened drawers roughly with contents falling painfully onto his bare feet. The fourth drawer held the matches and candles he had remembered. He lit a match, burned his fingers, but managed to light the stubborn wick. Instantly, his home was illuminated again, albeit minimal and flickering.

But enough to carefully venture out into the hallway once more. He made his way to the front door and opened it. From the porch he could just make out his nearest neighbor’s house in the distance. The lights seemed to be on over there. This wasn’t a general power outage affecting the entire neighborhood.

The wind almost snuffed out the candle, forcing him to step back inside quickly. He needed to check the fuses in the basement. But could they all have blown at the same time? He quickly walked from room to room. None of the light switches worked. The house was utterly without sound. No humming refrigerator, no softly buzzing appliances.

Back in the hallway, he opened the door to the basement and, carefully, made his way down the raw concrete stairway into the dank, windowless underworld. The candle flickered and was almost blown out twice due to a slight draft following him from the ground floor like a whispering wave.

He opened the fuse box and was astonished to see nothing. All sockets were empty. All spares were gone.

Instead, a handwritten note inside the fuse box read, “You made it this far. Come into the boiler room.”
What? Why? Who was toying with him?
He walked down the hallway, carefully protecting the candlelight with the cup of his hand.
At the end of the short hallway was the boiler room.
The metal door stood open.
It shouldn’t be open.
Fear and unease almost made him turn around right then and there, but curiosity and mounting confusion drove him forward.

He stepped into the boiler room. Nothing but darkness.
He said, “Hello?”
No answer.
He took a few more steps.

The door behind him slammed shut with a bang. As he whirled around, he heard the outside bolts sliding into place.

The candle flickered violently, smothered, on the brink of going out. It gave just enough light so he could see a poster on the door. Large, black letters proclaimed:

“Now you have more time than you think.”

The candle didn’t recover. It suffocated.

The matches were in the kitchen.

The ordeal began.