How Red & Blue Make Green

How Red & Blue Make Green

A while back, a friend of mine (whom I will not name, nor will I draw too much attention to as he is both white and male, but mostly because I honestly don’t think he wants the attention or the credit, so he will remain nameless and referred to only as a he/friend :) said something to me after I asked him something regarding his toddler daughter that I cannot remember now (&was clearly, largely unimportant) to which he responded (&I’m paraphrasing here as I am also too lazy to go into my DMs to get an exact quote), “When she says, ‘No,’ I completely surrender so that I can model what should happen if she says ‘No’ to a man.” 

I thought about this for a long time, not because I didn’t agree with what he was saying, but rather, because there was something clearly deeper at work, but my mind couldn’t quite come up with it on the spot. Obviously, I cheered him on and encouraged him, like I would any father who has taken on the parenting role of father head-on, but what he said to me has been brewing in the back of my mind for some time now, and I finally have a little something of a nugget about which to write.

Perhaps he’s on to the nugget of truth that in America (perhaps in other places as well, but I can only speak to white [yes, I am Korean, and I recently learned in Franchesca Ramsey’s book that I’m technically transracial…as in, born of a specific race but transplanted, i.e. adopted, into another racial custom, not ‘transracial’ like the disgusting trend of not-black folks posing as black] American life with confidence) ‘No’ doesn’t mean No. And the sad thing is, I cannot even count how many times I’ve heard men (boys, who am I kidding) say things akin to, “99 Nos and 1 Yes is a Yes,” etc. 

And then all of this made me realize that if Americans are unwilling to respect someone’s “No,” then they are quite literally incapable of respecting anyone at all. Everyone loves a Yes-Man, but a No-Woman is seen as troublesome. So, there it is. 

“I can’t breathe.”

In America, No doesn’t mean No. It means nothing at all, which means that words, as a whole, largely have no meaning here in These United States. 

But that can all change! It’s easy. 

We need to respect the words coming out of each other’s mouths.

No matter how much we may disagree with them, no matter how flawed we believe them to be, no matter how uncomfortable the words are making us, we all have the right to say what we want, to be heard, and to hear. But this does not mean that your words have no consequence. In order to truly be heard, we need to be creatures that can hear, can see, can understand the truths of each other. We don’t live in a simulation. If we did, we could all feel the underlying programmed truth &or reality. We live inside our own heads with our own brains that interpret the world for us in our own unique way. This means that in order to get inside each other’s heads, we must speak, communicate, use words (&yes, obviously, people who are incapable of using their physical voices are quite able to communicate with words). This also means that in order for you to successfully get inside someone else’s head, you must listen to what they are saying; you must hear them.

There are no right answers to life. 

There is no right way to live. 

There is only the right to live. 

When someone says something to you, and you say, “No,” to be disrespected and not heard means that that person does not care about your right to your own life. They desire to control you. They see you as a piece in their life. The people who respect your Nos are the ones who ask you why you’re saying no in the first place. Imagine if, when a coworker (or whoever) says no to you, instead of becoming frustrated or upset that they’re not going to “do something for you,” you simply asked why they’re saying no. Maybe it’s because you’re perceived as lazy so they don’t want to help you out. Maybe they’re just tired because they were up all night with the baby, and they just need a break today. Maybe they just don’t want to, and it’s none of your business why; do it yourself, etc. The bottomline is that the reason for their “No” matters a lot less than the fact that they’re saying it. 

Yea, of course, we all have to do stuff we don’t like (which is obviously my concern when hearing this strategy from a parent), but the larger, more important Truth is that we need to respect the words that come out of each of our mouths. Perhaps if we do this, we will be more careful about what actually comes out of our mouths because now we actually feel like someone is hearing us, listening to us, validating our right to life. 

Stay At Home, Dad.

Stay At Home, Dad.

Alright, here’s something petty, perhaps something petty enough to warrant a Petty Report. The thing is that my dad, an old white man, has refused to Stay Home during “The Virus.” And now, after realizing that he must, he has essentially held his good behavior hostage for some of my writing. He’s made a deal with my brother as well, but I do not know exactly what it is that he (my dad) is getting from him (my brother). What he’s “requested” from me is one essay for each week that he “behaves” and stays home, piddles around the neighborhood, goes nowhere non-essential, which is nowhere as the material needs he needs may be delivered, etc., and no expenses. Yes, he requires extensive medical care, but none of them are urgent in nature; they are chronic.

So, if he just stays inside and listens to everybody about how he just needs to not be so stubborn and selfish, then he would simply do the right thing. Instead, he wants something in return. Again, like aforementioned, I do not know what he is getting from my brother, but what he wants from me is writing about this goddamn virus! He wants to know what I thought about it as it was all ramping up; he wants to know what I think about it now as we’re in the throes of it, and he greedily wants to know what I will think about it once it all has died down. I have no idea how many essays this will turn into as there are no knowns at this point, but I am to send them to him on a weekly basis every time he’s a good boy for a whole week. OMFingG. My father is a child.

And I’m his child, so I have no other option than to be petty about it, to almost refuse his wishes to teach him a goddamn lesson about stubbornness. But then, I’m just being stubborn. Ugh. And yes, I am well aware of how my “problems” are not real problems.

On Niceness

On Niceness

Why is it so difficult to do good, to be good? Why does it seem as those it goes against our very nature to do good? Why is everyone so caught up in their own shit that they cannot even see other people much less treat them well? Why does the sun shine so bright? Why can I sometimes not hear the birds chirping? Why, when the obvious thing to do in a moment is just to simply be fucking nice, do so many people opt to be assholes? Even in the smallest, tiniest, most insignificant moments, people choose to harm rather than uplift. Is it really so difficult to be nice?

The boy child

The boy child

[Some doors only close]

“That’s ridiculous,” the boy child states to his manny. “I swear to you,” the manny promises, arms raised in surrender. “Prove it,” the boy challenges. “I cannot,” the manny shrugs. “Why?” the boy asks. “Cause. Think about it. It’s a door that ONLY closes,” the manny suggests. The boy thinks this over for a bit. “I suppose you’re right,” the boy child decides. “But then how am I ever supposed to find out whether or not you are?” “You will find out someday, but not today,” the manny promises. “Promise?” the boy confirms. “Promise,” the manny reiterates with an offered pinky. The two pinky swear.

 

 

There

There

Garlic, onions, something else and definitely fresh black pepper wafts through the air and hits me square between the eyes. Pastries, butter, bread, garlic butter, char, everything I need to make a simple meal for my stroll along somewhere one ought to perceive as beautiful but that is now no longer defined as such. I scratch that bit of scalp where your hair becomes face at the top of your forehead and worry, in dismay and self-conscious awareness, that I may perhaps someday go bald. Grey is a story all its own, one for which I eagerly await.

Nevertheless, the air feels damp, and my hair smells of the sort that is all nah-tchur-ahl, unadorned, raw. The smell reminds me of myself, oddly enough, but a younger self, a self that rarely went a day without a shower. When the rare occasion would arise wherein I need not shower on a given day, my hair always took on a certain quality all its own after about two days of being left alone. Fondness, a sense of feeling, being alive when I smell the scent. Garlic overwhelms me all over again.

The streets feel hard, lined with concrete, cinder-block, cement. Chairs are stiff, of the upright, iron-wrought, tiny wooden circle, bistro type. Tables barely hold enough items to satisfy one much less any company. Vanilla. I smell it in the air, and then, the taste hits my tongue. Vanilla bean. Following my nose, I stop in for a small scoop of iced cream. Tiny, the wooden spoon feels fragile but sturdy, the first plunge proves the latter. Bursts of cold and soft and the sensation that my mouth will indeed fill completely with the supple sensation of my mouth filling completely with flavor. Cool, warm, home-like vanilla.

 

 

Monday Moment

Monday Moment

If you’re just waiting for this ephing day to end, here’s something for YOU. I had the perfect image pop into my head today, and I’d like to share it with you, if you don’t mind. *shrug* Cool. Imagine with me …

Will Farrell, sitting on a bed inside a childlike bedroom, hair a-baby fro, dressed in a purple, magical-white-horse printed tee, and John C. Reilly atop his own bed, with a baby belly and crazy hair, they discuss the prospective future of Prestige Worldwide. “Oh, Jesus. My heart is beating so fast. Right now,” Will Farrell admits, shaken, nervous. He shakes himself off and begins:

“Peep hole ARE talk-in’

Talkin’ ‘bout PEEp-ho-oh-ole

I just ignore it, BUT

THey-eh

keep-uh sayin’

We la-AFF

just a little too

LA-OUD”

[JCR wipes tears from eyes while looking in awe; WF sings]

“We staanand just a little too clo-ose

WE STAA-air just a little to

Lah-ah-ahng

maybe they’re seein’ sumthin’

WE DO-ONT dar-Lin’

let’s give ‘em sumthin’ to talk ah-Bou-aout

let’s give ‘em sumthin’ to talk ah-bout

How about Luh-uve, LOO-OVE, love

Love-a-dove-a-shoo-ba-dee-a-canna-dig-an-hah!”

 


Songwriter: Shirley Eikhard

Step Brothers Screenwriters: Will Farrell & Adam McKay