The strangest feeling to bear in the ever-changing life circus remains to be the one that signals the time of parting ways with a friend. The initial feeling comes in as a hot potato stuffed with chewy doubts. You keep questioning yourself “what part did I play in this ordeal?” and sadly, you will find some of your mistakes. So you try to push yourself back into it to pay back for your own share of the blame. But at the end everything is back to square one where it seems the friendship has seen the banshee. That’s when your past comes back to you with ferocious fangs.

loud was the sound of the birds when they landed in spite of noise from the boys with the rocks in their fists

looking to bring a man down to the bottom of a thousand ton well
… one tiny push send that man into hell

he hit with a thud, there’ll be no work tomorrow
… just a funeral for a guy with time that he borrowed

Mother Nature features contradictory narratives from time to time. She creates the best of spectacles that rhyme with unbelievable rhythm, and she takes them away in a blink of an eye as if father-time has caught up with her.

When something unexpected happens to a friend, I’d like to think Mother Nature is playing practical jokes that are not funny. Or, it feels like she makes promises of tomorrow that show no sign of realization in the present. At the end however, Mother Nature does act like she loves humanity; but sadly, she has a hard time getting along with people.

For the longest time I failed to understand the sense of nostalgia. I could never come to terms with the reasons as to why one should yearn the past.

The other conflicting thought of mine has had to do with attempting to make sense of the circumstances, events, and emotions that push one away from the sense of purity and innocence. The sense we’ve all felt during childhood. The feelings we felt in our cheerful memories, pure thoughts, and high places.

I’m developing a theory that argues the sense of nostalgia has something to do with yearning the years of purity -when everything seemed so homely and simple. We attach ourselves to old circumstances and objects to relate to what we used to feel -or- what we seem to have lost. That is what’s sitting in the soul of a common man.

Bubba signifies loyalty in its purest and strongest form. You can call him at 3:00am in the morning and ask for help, and he will show up without needing the cause. Bubba has a tendency to form magical opinions on issues that are relevant to the ways of experience. Bubba’s opinions make you believe he has thought about the issue long and hard, but he has chosen to stay mummed about it. Bubba owns the credit on my belief that: silence is the common language of everyone.

It was at the end of my film’s premier in Seattle and I was getting ready to leave the theatre. Bubba was there ever so selflessly for the whole day helping with everything. As we were leaving the theatre, Bubba reached out to tell me something privately. He pulled me to a quiet corner and with a low and cautious tone said, “you would have never made a film had you married Fiona”

When I was growing up, I never had any permutation of a dream that considered me as a married man. Marriage was never a part of any plan. During college years, marrying young was a trend. Meeting your spouse in college seemed like a great idea because the assumption was that those are the only years you’re surrounded by so many smart girls. By that assumption, Liza would be a great choice for me because she was the smartest girl in the class. However, today we know that marrying Liza wouldn’t work because I still have a penis and Liza is no longer interested in such organs. Liza ended up marrying Becky and they live in Montreal.

On the other hand, my parents never forced a criterion for marriage. For instance, my mother who suspended her teaching career to be a full time mom would never ask my sister to do the same. In fact, that’d be awkward because my sister continued working when she had her first child.

Fiona chose to get married, and move to LA after we broke up back in 2006. Don’t get me wrong; Fiona was smart since she had already found her ideal husband before we broke up. Fiona wrote me once and said, “I’m happy. I’m glad I met someone with the same socioeconomic background. I’ve never wanted to marry someone who’s smarter than me”. I believe the phrase Fiona was looking for was ‘smarter than I am’. Fiona always believed it is important to keep the grammar intact, even if there are many conceptual layers in a phrase. She cared about “the optics”, maybe because she believed the spotlights were always on her.

I knew so well I wasn’t ready to get married with Fiona. I believed a happy life required a lot more than a career and a pretty girl. Or maybe, the problem is that I use that line on dates quite frequently. I thought a wife like Fiona would prevent me from working on anything that excluded her, including getting to know other beautiful and smart women. So instead of spending my years becoming a more marriageable male, I was actually learning about other things that didn’t necessarily include notions like love or forever.

Ironically, Fiona was in Seattle on the day Bubba shared his wisdom with me. What are the chances! A close friend of mine asked me to go to the same event where Fiona was. I considered it, but then I thought: some people choose to break the mold, and some people take a trip to LA.

Tony is an Irish man who works as a bartender at the restaurant across the street. He’s very approachable, and deeply kind by all measures. Tony shows up in conversations with his trademark rough edges. He says “fack” a lot. He goes up and down the bar, and in infrequent moments, stops to share the gossip about other people who sit right beside me. By default, Tony thinks all of his customers are idiots. However, there is something special about Tony. He knows about medieval history and old fashion primitives, more than my late uncle who was a history teacher.

Last night, there was a fire alarm in the building and I was forced to leave the building and wait outside -until fire fighters concluded their show. I thought, I might as well go see Tony. As soon as I walked in, he turned around and poured me a drink without saying a word. He put the drink in front of me and then asked “sit here, I want to ask you something”. I knew right then, a classic bar moment was about to be born with his show and all. He looked at me dead in the eye, and asked, “what does gorgeous mean to you?”

I admit, I had to think a lot. Albeit if I was smart, I’d not be the pensive guy at the bar who knows the bartender. Because what happens next is that, other people at the bar stare at you and keep buying you more drinks.

After a while, I was able to form a thought about the subject. Here is what I listed out for Tony. I said, “Gorgeous is the one who:

– Has a flawlessly symmetrical and kind face
– Carries a mildly reserved persona
– Makes me think, ‘God she’s gorgeous’ consistently, and with no qualms”

Tony, who’s very argumentative, reluctantly made me feel he understood the first two, but he needed more information on the last one. He said that he’d never be able to admit or internalize such thing, even to self. That said, Tony was on a good mood last night and ended up buying my drink.

Admitting someone else’s qualifications happens to be a hard task -if you’re competitive, complex, or analytical. Such admission shows some of your cards –even if you spend no other form of capital. Tony’s mindset reflects our society. The Rugged Man Society, where everyone is on his own. In such place, there is no room for give and take of credit, in any shape or form. I said all of that to Tony. His response was “Fack Off!”.

Or maybe, I’m just a late bloomer who still has inner voices of “god, she’s gorgeous”. From time to time, I am known to have a slow get-it factor. Maybe, I’m just not that smart. Well, the graveyard is full of indispensable men. Someone else will come and fill that role.