Song of Becoming

Song of Becoming is a poem that mostly tackles about how the war that occurs in a certain place changes the cycle of things. Personally, I think of it as a simple yet substantial piece that raises awareness among the people involved. It makes them outgrow the comfortable and blissful life for they must surrender and accustom themselves to the pressures of life brought about by the situation they are in.

Here, the boys who were enjoying their childhood days under the heat of the sun. Flying their colorful kites in the sky, laughing all the way and at times, making fun of themselves as they pretend they are the great heroes defending those who are demoralized by their condition.

But suddenly, unexpectedly, their role playing became a preview of what was going to happen. Disagreement arose between Israel and Palestine making the once young boys to assume a responsibility to soon for their age. They’ve grown so much that they were already like the adults, so devoted already to the task they ought to do. They became so strong, so different from the scenario of the boys playing under the sun.

In the end, after all the things they have done – all the fighting, defending, just to have to possess those they deserve to have. The possibility for them to die has been considered a feather on their cap. To do the things for their fellow men seems a pride for them. They succeed in their goal to serve the people in need.

Guests on the Sea

A short visit. The journey of the guests on the sea was supposed to take place only in a short period of time. But they want something from the sea or shall I say they are expecting something from it. Some kind of approval or agreement is what they are waiting for. And they are eager to get it for they know they deserve to have it for themselves.

As written by Mahmoud Darwish, a Palestinian poet, I can visualize the guests as the Palestinians traveling in search of a home that they could finally call their own. They had put a great emphasis to the fact that they were a group of people, surely, a nation but they came to this country not from a country. With a sarcastic manner, they just put to it that they came from pomegranates. They sprung out from the seeds of that certain fruit which is not possible for they were humans and not plants. They were unsure of their visit for they were confronted by the big issue of having a home to return to. They didn’t love the idea of being guests, for more than that they wanted to be called home owners. They wanted to live for something, to fight for something that is theirs. If they get it, they are more than willing to leave. That’s why they were wondering how the gifts from their ancestors went undetectable. And sadly, now they are perishing from this problem.

They said, our visit has an objective – a solid one. They realized that they were precious creatures like the shells and stars in the sea. They’re not just anything or something. That’s why they believed that they could really get through. And finally, at the end of every day, their only wish was to go home to a country that they may call their own.

More mind-boggling than that of all the short stories we have taken up in class that was how I could describe the Guests on the Sea. And it was not easy for me to state every reaction I had, for I had those ideas that were just too complicated to be put into words. Like the straightforwardness of their aim, it’s just too difficult to elaborate further more.

His Little Girl

Always come on time. Study your lessons well. Stop sleeping. Go home early. Stop those silly stuffs that you do with your friends. Accompany your mother to church. Don’t be lazy. Be good. But if she scolds you of not going, reason out. Don’t cry. You’re a baby no more. Better take opportunities seriously. If possible, be there one hour before any appointment. What happened to your grades? Avoid them. But no man’s an island and you know me. Have your monthly confession. Stop writing those letters that always promises. I don’t need those. But if anyway you failed again, accept it. Don’t cry. Try again. This is how you do the dishes. Don’t ever compare yourself with them. By 24, you should have your dream car. Be with her always. But she terribly misses you. Study very hard. You’ll benefit from them and not us. I know. Promise me this. Go to church every Sunday. You’re in-charge of the kitchen now. Don’t cry. Be strong. She is leaning on you. You’re not a child anymore. But you disobeyed our agreement, you left us. I must go now. You two can do it. But we need you. Trust Him. I trust you. It’s okay to cry. Anyway, you could still grow up and be my little girl.

The Lamb & The Tyger

Reading them separately, The Lamb and The Tyger from Songs of Innocence and Experience by William Blake succinctly defines two different creatures. They are two diverse creations by One Creator. And now, they co-exist in this world that thinks they couldn’t be a perfect pair.

A lamb which lives in a pasture as a tamed animal symbolizes purity or spotlessness because of its white covering. It is an innocent creature for it is young and new to the world. And when you see one, you can easily see the harmlessness in its appearance. While a tiger is an animal that conspicuously breathes in the forest and is classified as a wild one. It is fierce and at times, bruised for it engages in food wars with other predators. And it is a very great risk to have them as a pet.

As the title of the song by Blake, innocence and experience always go hand in hand. For in human nature, we are forever innocent and experienced. To know our limits or boundaries that the more I know of so many things, the more I know that I don’t know so many things. This statement in Philosophy about self-examination clearly justifies how innocence and experience co-exist in every human. For one can never be omniscient about everything. It is only the One Creator that is capable of doing that. Because of the diversity of His creations, there came the possibility of both, lamb and tiger, existing despite the terror in it. The tyger was for me, a necessary evil for the lamb’s existence. A necessary evil which one can’t take away because they were really meant to be there. The lamb and the tyger is truly a pair that can’t be put into asunder.

Hanging Fire by Audre Lorde

In love with a boy, a fourteen years old she is the character of the story. She is an African American and he dislikes her because of that. And with that, the girl blames herself for everything. As she mentions about dying in the morning, it was maybe because of the boy. Momma’s in the bedroom with the door closed. Her mom doesn’t care and doesn’t know what is presently happening to her child.

A dance and a party were mentioned. It was tackling something about conformity because these two are both connected to social events. This issue of conformity is common to those of the teens because at these ages, everybody wants to fit in to everybody else. Again, she uttered about dying before graduation which might be she is avoiding something. At this moment, she was having self-pity and her procrastination and laziness were typically obvious in the lines, “..There is nothing I want to do and too much that has to be done..” But still, her mother is not aware of the things and she didn't even bother to let her know too. With this, their relationship with each other is not build on a strong foundation. Their communictaion with each other is not there.

Not able to join the Math Club pushed her at the peak of her self-pity. It seemed nobody trusts her skills for it. For me, it was like the next thing she was got to experience was depression because she really feels that no one listens to her and no one wants to be on her side. She feels very alone because the people around her don’t like to be with her. And with everything that happened to her, she disliked herself more and more each day maybe because of her appearance. Now it was different, she didn’t spoke the word dying but she doubts if she can still grow up and outgrow everything that had happened. But still, the thought still means is to die. The same thing is still there, the door closed and still her mom doesn’t care to know.

*With the door closed and not locked meant that they just lack that communication with each other. Her momma is inside the room not constantly checking up on her daughter which must be the thing she must do for she is a mother. And the girl, she doesn't reach out to her mom. They could have a heart to heart talk so that her mom would know everything and could advise her. And because of her insecurities of being black, she taps the idea of dying. She thought that this would be a solution to her problem. But it isn't. As death is constantly running through her mind, it had an incremental effect because the issues she is facing are getting complicated too. Just pure acceptance and appreciation for herself will surely end her anxieties.

The Fury of Overshoes by Anne Sexton

The overshoes. This was the first thing that the speaker is describing in his poem. But with my initial reading, it wasn’t the title nor the idea of an overshoe that first brought me a thought about the poem but the word – kindergarten. Upon reading it, the only image that came to my mind was a child. A child who cannot buckle his own overshoe or tie his own shoe or cut his own meat and the river of tears that flows when he fell off his bike. And it's normal because it is the realities of being a child. Being a child means you are still starting to learn and do the normal things necessary for life which also implies that you couldn’t do it perfectly because you are a beginner. And the overshoe was something he had from the past. Here, the speaker isn’t a child but the speaker is talking to someone who was once a child.

Then about that wolf, I can picture out the ones in movies where the wolf can be seen outside your window. They are howling at night in the best way that they could scare the little children sleeping in their rooms. But I then realize after reading again that it is not the fright with this sight that made a child give up the nightlight, teddy and thumb because actually, the ones who could and are doing that are the parents. They do this is in the sense that they want the child to outgrow the fears. And be a brave person like how big people are.

I noticed that after the 31st line, the poem had changed its mood. The speaker then comes in the very scene where he is talking to his overshoes and thumb. It was like he was talking to the things that were greatly a part of his childhood days. After a while, he looks for the big people whom the world belonged to, according to him. I can tell that he was already in his journey to the big world because it seems he can’t wait. He keeps on looking for the big people and he can’t await his’ reaching there. But as he takes the giant steps leading there, it was only as if he was stepping for the sake of stepping. And now, without really minding if he is really going there.

*The overshoes was a protective gear. And for the speaker in the story, it is very important to him because it was once very beneficial for him to use when he was a child and he treasures it very much. Against the snow, the overshoes protected him. Here, the snow could symbolize problems, struggles and difficulty that he experienced. The overshoe could be someone who was a really big factor that made him surpass the trial. I think the speaker was talking of a not-so-normal-or-typical childhood. For childhood are always associated with happy days where children are problem-free and worry-free. But for him, it was different. He underwent problems, storms, snows and he needs the overshoe or someone that could push him up and help him make it through.

Food for the Soul

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

Beauty is relative. It is always a deciding factor on which eye you are seeing it through. And like beauty, an art or a craft which possesses it passes through the judgment of all eyes of society whether he likes it or not.

Among the short stories we have taken up in class, it was Franz Kafka’s A Hunger Artist that made me realize that I am pondering on lots of things which was unusual. It was meaty. Underlay its lengthy paragraphs was a deeper issue of critiquing or assessing an artist and his craft. And with the existentialist, Franz Kafka, I totally agree with his interpretation of everything about the artist and the craft. And this is because, if I were situated in his place, I would also see things that way.

Take the hunger artist’s fasting which was limited by the impresario or the manager for until forty days only. But because he was so passionate to it, he still wants to continue his craft even after that 40 days. So true for if it is a craft, an artist would not limit himself in doing it. He loves it and so, he will continue doing it as long as he likes and this without anyone reprimanding him to stop or continue.

Then, he was put in that cage in the zoo, the next thing he was about to face was the live audience that is going to watch him. Dealing with their full interest at first, after a while, he also had to face the lost of their desire to view him. Experiencing this, instead of stopping what he most wanted to do, it just made him more and more willing to continue to reach out to the public and have his craft appreciated and understood. Entering the battlefield of art, an artist should always be ready of anything. He must know the fact that he cannot please everyone. He knows that he belongs to a society that will scrutinize his art, and that somehow he has to conform to them. To conform which is not an easy thing to do for an artist means to offer them the things they want to see, view and witness.

And lastly which was the rudest was when he was moved to another place to stay in. Still in a cage but now, it is beside a menagerie. It's just so desperate on the part of the hunger artist to continue his craft without people minding it. But he still managed to continue because of his great love for his craft. Seeing those people approach towards him gives him a sense of excitement and hope that those people coming might understand his craft. But consciously, he also knew that this sea of people coming is merely passers-by. And so, he had himself prepared that they were not his audience but they are of those to the menagerie. To continue still even without the least sincere blessing from the public was the bravest thing he did. It was quite a disappointment but probably, it is never an end to an artist. Here, if no public wants to view or buy the work, then the art would be for full self-expression. The kind where he just have to do what he desires to convey. And that’s it.

Kafka had me mesmerize by his way of things in that part where an overseer had come to question the hunger artist on why he had been doing these somehow silly things. Then, he answered modestly, "..because I couldn't find the food I liked. If I had found it, believe me, I should have made no fuss and stuffed myself like you or anyone else." Upon reading the artist's answer, I was stunned and got my brain cells working. It made me realize that after all, it wasn't his craft. That it was just coincidence and that the fasting which was believed as his craft was, all the while, an excuse of not finding something. But knowing it was Kafka's, you’ll come to think that the food he liked wasn't literally a food. The food he was dying to find was the understanding of the public, his audience, that with it he would satisfy himself as well as his craft which will be worthwhile now. If this happens, at last, the public would now see the beauty of the craft and the artist would now get the food that he wants. And in this way, it goes similar with beauty, a food for the soul for everybody that could witness it.

The Pipe of Ecce Vino

*My own version, a hopefully modernized one, of the "The Cask of Amontillado" by Edgar Allan Poe.

Sarcastically missing my childhood friend for nearly forty years now since his silent death, and here I lay. Lucio, who was not that mischievous but has inflicted me pain for the countless injuries I’ve got to withstand with him around. “Richest?!” That evening, that single word he had said during our conversation about my family was the insult I just couldn’t take. And so, I vowed revenge. Time will come and it’s my turn to break it to him, the way he did it to me.

Years passed, and I haven’t showed signs that some things had already changed between us. From childhood friends, we became colleagues. Working in the same company which was owned by family, I smiled at him with this thought in mind that he never knew what I was thinking.

Lucio had this weak point aside from his insensitivity to some things – to consider, some personal things. He prided himself of having this exceptional knowledge when it comes to wine. In our company which manufactures the best wines to export to other countries, we were both in the wine-making and tasting department. Thus, making it understandable that we both are well-grounded of the nature of our product. But I was a successor of this company and had exposed myself in this business for a lifetime.

It was New Year’s Eve and we were about to attend the first costume party hosted by the company for their employees. Lucio and I went together in our way there. I was in a vampire outfit while he had his get-up of a clown wearing shades which was his style, according to him, and it’s weird. Upon reaching the receiving area of our building, silence dominated. This is maybe because everybody had excitedly clamped there at the rooftop where the party was to be held.

Through the silence, a memory rushed in to me unexpectedly. While we were sitting to rest, I remembered that it was in this place, in this lobby, where my friend had insulted me. It is here where I swore to give him that sweet vengeance with that taste of morbidity. And that moment I thought was the time.

I said to him, “Hey Lucio! Is it okay if we just go up after a while? I was quite tired of our walk and I think I need to rest for a couple of minutes.”

“Oh yes.” he replied. “I presume they couldn’t just start the event without us, the best employees? Haha!”

“Think so.” Silence. “Lucio, have you heard anything about the Ecce Vino?”

“That sounds like a wine huh but I just don’t know. What’s that?” he said.

“Ecce Vino is our family’s deepest secret and treasure,” I said. “You’re right. It’s a wine, the best wine to be exact, an heirloom that was passed by my great grands to my parents.”

“Really? Then..so what it’s like?”

“I haven’t actually seen it or taste it but I know where it’s hidden.”

“If that’s it, then I think we must go and see it. Come on. Ecce Vino!”

“Sure? Aren’t we going up now?”

“Oh yes. The party can wait. Ecce Vino! I can’t just wait.”

“It’s at the basement. A secret room leads there,” I said while Lucio was pulling my arm.

“Good. Then let’s go, now’s the time. The coast is clear, no one would see us. Ecce Vino!”

To the basement, he went coughing. I don’t know what it caused it. Maybe it’s the damp air that filled the area.

He was still coughing. “Are you okay? Shall we continue?” I asked. “We can still go there in another time when you’re well. I can’t afford to lose you, the company can’t you know.”

"Ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh!"

For a while then he replied as he took off his shades, “No. It’s nothing. I’m okay. I too can’t afford to see the Ecce Vino now. Let’s continue.” He added with excitement.

He hurried us until we reached the end of the alley; I stamped my feet at the left corner side where a secret button was located. Then a gadget popped out from the ceiling. It was an eye scanner. A specialized one that would examined if my blue eyes were that of the Benjamin’s. After a quick second, the wall opened. An ordinary room greeted us. It has chairs and a table in its center – more like a living room. And on its left side was an array filled with the finest wines of the world. It was a comfortable place with an air conditioner. A little bit cozy because it the cool air that packed the room which was totally different from the damp air outside. It was really the place to condition everything that was to happen.

Lucio made himself at ease. He sat down on the couch. Moving towards the array, I decided to pick the strongest wine I knew. This was part of that tactic to make my mission possible.

“Drink,” I said to him as I offered him a glass. Without hesitation and question, he took it from my hand and sipped.

“Good. Quite a strong one huh,” he said while appreciating the effect of the wine.

“Ecce Vino!” He suddenly blurted out.

“Later, Lucio. Calm yourself. First enjoy the drink,” I commanded.

While my friend was sitting and enjoying the place, I wandered around. Then I managed to find the place where the Ecce Vino was located. It was at the heart of the room, a wall separates it from the living room that is why we didn’t notice it as we entered. On an altar-like, the pipe of Ecce Vino was placed. And under it was a chair, a particular kind that I would use to complete my plans.

I went back to Lucio and persuade him to follow me. “Come. You’ve got to see something,” I said.

He followed me, leaving his glass on the table. And there as we saw it and without me telling him, he recognized the thing as the Ecce Vino.

“Ecce Vino,” he uttered with amusement. “And what’s that chair for?”

“You wanna try? That’s a special chair. It brings you down where casks of Ecce Vino are.” I told him. “Just the motto whispered twice. And it will bring you there.”

“Hmm.. So, what’s the motto?” He kindly requested.

“Repeat after me,” I said. “Ecce Vino, Ecce Homo.” Behold the wine, behold the man.

“Ecce Vino, Ecce Homo.” And then the chair went down moderately to that empty vacuum room underneath.

“Should any button be anywhere here on the chair that I could push whenever I wanted to go up? Aren’t you coming? We’d go to the party together huh, there’s so much to talk about. We had kept them waiting,” his voice called out unclearly. I ignored.

As I went back to the living room to get the glass from the table and put it back to where I got it, I heard noises – both human and machine produced. And then a clank, the opening closed and the chair’s back in its place.

And before I left, I took another glimpse of the Ecce Vino and the chair. I went near it, lowered my ear to the foot of the chair, looked into a small opening and called out. “Lucio! Lucio! Lucio!” But I heard no reply.

As soon as I closed the room, my heart grew sick. It was because of the damp air again that greeted me after being in a cool room. It’s been forty years now, silence still. In pace requiescat!

Being Himself

At the depot, my friend, Sandra who was also my former employee picked me up. We rode in her car. And as we traveled on the way to her place, we also journeyed through memory lane reminiscing the summers together.

As we pull into the drive, a sudden feeling of anxiety filled me. And then I saw her husband gazing at us in the window. My uneasiness grew. Fearing what his reaction would be, will he be happy of my visit? Or would he think I was just a pain in the neck? But I shrugged it off for me to meet than man in my friend’s life.

Sandra was still laughing as she parked the car. Laughing at the stories we were telling to each other. Then she went to me to help me get out. I hope her husband won’t fear a blind man wearing a full beard, though it is kind of weird. I reached into the backseat and dragged out my suitcase. She took my arm, shut the car door, and, we went talking all the way, moved me down the drive and then up the steps to the front porch.

As her husband open the door for us, Sandra said, “Chad, I want you to meet Robert. Robert, this is my husband, Chad. I’ve told you all about him.” Then I let go of my suitcase and up came to meet his hand. I took it and squeezed it hard, for him to feel how glad I am to meet the love of my friend. Then I let go.

“I feel like we’ve already met,” I boomed.

“Likewise,” he said. Then he said, “Welcome. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Then we began to move around the house, from the porch into the living room, his wife guiding me by the arm. Then Chad blurted out something to strike a conversation. He asked, “Did you have a good train ride? Which side of the train did you sit on, by the way?”

“What a question, which side! What’s it matter which side?” Sandra said.

“I just asked,” he said.

“Right side,” I replied. “I hadn’t been on a train in nearly forty years. Not since I was a kid. With my folks. That’s been a long time. I’d nearly forgotten the sensation. I have winter in my beard now,“ I said. Shifting the topic to avoid an argument between the couple, “So I’ve been told, anyway. Do I look distinguished, my dear?” I asked Sandra.

“You look distinguished, Robert,” she said. “Robert,” she said. “Robert, it’s just so good to see you.” And I was just as happy to see her too.

“Let me get you a drink. What’s your pleasure? We have a little bit of everything. It’s one of our pastimes,” Chad said.

“Bub, I’m a Scotch man myself,” I replied. It was nice of him to ask me for a drink, I thought. It was a really good sign of him being friendly.

“I’ll move your suitcase up to your room,” Sandra said.

“No, that’s fine,” I said loudly. “It can go up when I go up.”

The three of us had a big glass of Scotch with a splash of water in each. Then we made ourselves comfortable and talked about my travels. First the long flight I had from the West Coast to Connecticut then from Connecticut up here by train. We also smoked while drinking and I guess I had much.

When we sat down at the table for dinner, we had another drink. The couple took charge of my meal. Chad said, “Here’s bread and butter for you.” I swallowed some of my drink. “Now let us pray,” he said, and then I lowered my head. “Pray the phone won’t ring and the food doesn’t get cold,” he added.

We dug in. We ate everything there was to eat on the table. We ate like there was no tomorrow. We didn’t talk. We ate. Silence filled the atmosphere. I had no problem with my food that is why I didn’t stop eating until I felt really full.

After dinner, we went to the living room sank into our places again. I was sitting on the sofa with Sandra. We talked about the major things that had come to pass for us in the past ten years. Now and then, Chad joined in. As we talked about my life, I also try to ask Chad about some things from time to time. Like how long had he been in his present position, did he like his work, and was he going to stay with it.

After answering my questions, the TV turned on. “Robert, do you have a TV?”, Sandra asked.

“My dear, I have two TVs. I have a color set and a black-and-white thing, an old relic. It’s funny, but if I turn the TV on, and I’m always turning it on, I turn on the color set. It’s funny, don’t you think?”, I replied.

“This is a color TV. Don’t ask me how, but I can tell.”, I said while listening to the news program.

“I think I’ll go upstairs and put on my robe. I think I’ll change into something else. Robert, you make yourself comfortable,” Sandra said.

“I’m comfortable,” I answered.

“I want you to feel comfortable in this house,” she said.

“I am comfortable,” I finally insisted.

As Sandra went upstairs, Chad and I listened to the weather report and then to the sports roundup. Then we had another drink. He also asked me if I want to smoke some dope with him and I said sure.

Then Sandra came down and asked, “What do I smell?”

“We thought we’d have us some cannabis,” Chad said.

“Robert, I didn’t know you smoked,” she exclaimed.

“I do now, my dear. There’s a first time for everything. But I don’t feel anything yet,” I replied.

Then Sandra joined us and sat on the sofa between me and Chad.

After awhile, “Thanks, bub,” I said. “But I think this is all for me. I think I’m beginning to feel it,” I added. “

Same here,” Sandra said. “Ditto. Me, too. I may just sit here for a while between you two guys with my eyes closed. But don’t let me bother you, okay? Either one of you. If it bothers you, say so. Otherwise, I may just sit here with my eyes closed until you’re ready to go to bed,” she said. “Your bed’s made up, Robert, when you’re ready. It’s right next to our room at the top of the stairs. We’ll show you up when you’re ready. You wake me up now, you guys, if I fall asleep.” She said that and then she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

My friend seems really tired. She needs enough rest to recover the energy she had spent for taking care of me in this visit. And now I think is the right time for me and Chad to build a connection that may lead to a bond of friendship like what Sandra and I have. This is also a payment for stealing his wife from him because of her pursuit to entertain me as a visitor.

The news program ended. “Are you tired? Do you want me to take you up to your bed? Are you ready to hit the hay?”, Chad asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “No, I’ll stay up with you, bub. If that’s all right. I’ll stay up until you’re ready to turn in. We haven’t had a chance to talk. Know what I mean? I feel like me and her monopolized the evening. “

“That’s all right,” he said then added, “I’m glad for the company.” But how should I start it?

We were watching TV and I felt that Chad was keeping on switching the channels. “Bub, it’s all right,” I finally said. “It’s fine with me. Whatever you want to watch is okay. I’m always learning something. Learning never ends. It won’t hurt me to learn something tonight. I got ears,” I added.

Hearing from the screen, I heard an Englishman narrating about something like an event. But I was not sure. It was like the event took place in Spain once a year. Then, Chad tried to explain to me what was happening.

Silence dominated between us again and then Chad said, “They’re showing the outside of this cathedral now. Gargoyles. Little statues carved to look like monsters. Now I guess they’re in Italy. Yeah, they’re in Italy. There’s paintings on the walls of this one church.”

“Are those fresco painting, bub?” I asked then sipped from my drink.

“You’re asking me are those frescoes? That’s a good question. I don’t know,” Chad said casually.

Then he blurted out, “Something has occurred to me. Do you have any idea what a cathedral is? What they look like, that is? Do you follow me? If somebody says cathedral to you, do you have any notion what they’re talking about? Do you the difference between that and a Baptist church, say?”

“I know they took hundreds of workers fifty or a hundred years to build,” I said. “I just heard the man say that, of course. I know generations of the same families worked on a cathedral. I heard him say that, too. The men who began their life’s work on them, they never lived to see the completion of their work. In that wise, bub, they’re no different from the rest of us, right?” I laughed. “Cathedrals,” I said. “If you want the truth, bub, that’s about all I know. What I just said. What I heard him say. But maybe you could describe one to me? I wish you’d do it. I’d like that. If you want to know, I really don’t have a good idea,” I added.

“To begin with, they’re very tall. They reach way up. Up and up. Toward the sky. They’re so big, some of them, they have to have these supports. To help hold them up, so to speak. These supports are called buttresses. They remind of viaducts, for some reason. But maybe you don’t know viaducts, either? Sometimes the cathedrals have devils and such carved into the front. Sometimes lords and ladies. Don’t ask me why this is,” he said.

“I’m not doing so good, am I?” he finally uttered. But I appreciate very much on how he tries to give me the information I need.

I kept on nodding, so as to convince him I’m willing to listen and wait. Then he said, “They’re really big. They’re massive. They’re built of stone. Marble, too, sometimes. In those olden days, when they built cathedrals, men wanted to be close to God. In those olden days, God was an important part of everyone’s life. You could tell this from their cathedral-building. I’m sorry but it looks like that’s the best I can do for you. I’m just no good at it.”

“That’s all right, bub,” I told him. “Hey, listen. I hope you don’t mind my asking you. Can I ask you something? Let me ask you a simple question, yes or no. I’m just curious and there’s no offense. You’re my host. But let me ask if you are in any way religious? You don’t mind my asking?” I asked in a moment.

“I guess I don’t believe in it. In anything. Sometimes it’s hard. You know what I’m saying?”, he replied.

“Sure, I do,” I said.

He apologized of him that he can not tell me what a cathedral exactly looks like. He admitted that it’s just isn’t in him, those kinds of things.

“The truth is, cathedrals don’t mean anything special to me. Nothing. Cathedrals. They’re something to look at on late-night TV. That’s all they are,” he added.

And then I thought of something. Then I said, “I get it, bub. It’s okay. It happens. Don’t worry about it.” “Hey, listen to me. Will you do me a favor? I got an idea. Why don’t you find us some heavy paper? And a pen. We’ll do something. We’ll draw one together. Get us a pen and some heavy paper. Go on, bub, get the stuff,” I requested.

He quickly went upstairs to find some pens and papers that we would be using then hurried back to the living room. I got down from the sofa and sat next to him on the carpet.

After preparing, we were now ready to start. I found his hand, the hand with the pen. I closed my hand over his hand. “Go ahead, bub, draw,” I said. “Draw. You’ll see. I’ll follow along with you. It’ll be okay. Just begin now like I’m telling you. You’ll see. Draw,” I said.

“Swell,” I said while feeling the motion of our hands. “Terrific. You’re doing fine,” I exclaimed. “Never thought anything like this could happen in your lifetime, did you, bub? Well, it’s a strange life, we all know that. Go on now. Keep it up.”

As I felt around over the paper and moving the tips of my fingers over the paper and all over what Chad had drawn, I showed my affirmation to him by nodding. “Doing fine,” I added.

I guess Chad feels a strange feeling now. Though he knew that he is not an artist, he can’t explain why he kept on drawing just the same.

Sandra opened up her eyes and gazed at us. She sat up on the sofa, her robe hanging open. She said, “What are you doing? Tell me, I want to know.”

No one answered him, at first. Then I said, “We’re drawing a cathedral. Me and him are working on it. Press hard,” I repeated to him. “That’s right. That’s good,” I said. “Sure. You got it, bub. I can tell. You didn’t think you could. But you can, can’t you? You’re cooking with gas now. You know what I’m saying? We’re going to really have us something here in a minute. How’s the old arm? Put some people in there now. What’s a cathedral without people?”, I added.

Sandra repeated, “What’s going on? Robert, what are you doing? What’s going on?”

“It’s all right,” I said to her. “Close your eyes now,” I said to him.

Chad closed his eyes just like what I said. And he kept it that way for awhile. “Don’t stop now. Draw,” I told him.

So we kept on with it. My fingers rode his fingers as his hand went over the paper. Then I finally said, “I think that’s it. I think you got it. Take a look. What do you think?”

“Well?” I said. “Are you looking?” But Chad’s eyes were still closed.

“It’s really something,” he said. I felt happy with what happened. It was successful. I’m happy that he got it. Somehow he had been himself.

What is Hidden or Coated

Snapshots are shots taken by a photographer with his small handheld camera. It is here where he just spontaneously clicks the button to capture a certain moment which he thinks is worth taking. It is in these snapshots of candid moments that when he looks at it, he sees more beyond what the picture offers. And truly it is better than that of having still life as his theme.

Yes, the story showed me aspects of life that I normally would not see. It opened my eyes to better understanding of certain human action and reaction that leads to learning more about human nature. For me, how the husband acted towards the blind man was some kind of a defense mechanism. Knowing things about the blind man from his wife's stories and seeing him finally that night, it made him realize that their visitor is not a typical blind man. Their visitor is a normal person who lives a normal life, that without dogs guiding him, but just lacks that sense of sight. This is the very reason why somehow he acted weird, if the wife was to ask, but it was just his way to be himself and act normal in entertaining or receiving a normal visitor. Another aspect I have observed that can be quoted goes something like this, "You could not just judge a person right away for what he did, you must know the reason why he did it to be sensible." This goes to the judgmental persons who do not give others the chance to explain. They focus too much on the wrong actions of people without caring to ask the reason of how everything came to be or happened. They don't even mind to ask the reason why though this has always been the right way for them to give the right judgment, reward or punishment, to a certain act and for them to know deeper of the situation and in order for them to act accordingly. And remember, it is always logically important to know the purpose for it is there where everything relies.

The husband, at the same time, was the narrator who played a very important part of the short story. Aside from the blind man guiding him in their drawing of the cathedral in the last part of the short story which created the strongest irony and somehow had made him the real blind man, he was a tool or vehicle that made us discover more about the complexity of human nature. Reacting differently from the rest will always be weird for others, like what the husband did which was interpreted by the wife as him being rude to the blind man because she never knew of the husband's real intentions.

The short story compared to the novels and other forms of literature, despite its length, it contains the right impact that must be left to the readers. It consists of meaningful scenes where one can get a bunch of useful information. Short stories consist of snapshots made by the writer with his imagination and power of words. These are the scenes where one can interpret more way beyond the words written. It gives us the capacity to spot the real character of the person involved, the significance of their movements and actions, the value of the atmosphere it creates, may it be light or heavy. And most importantly, it gives the deepest meaning to the moment itself where only one with the open mind and has the best understanding could cultivate what is hidden or coated.