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| Photographic Entry #1 : Withering in Winter | | |
| Out of Characterrrrrrrrrrrr?It seems to be concerning a handful of you that my composition no longer reflect the character that you may have come to know as Keniiiiiiiiiiii. My sincere apologies. I promise more angriness and randomness in the articles to come. In the mean time, entertain yourself by counting the number of i's here: Keniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. | | |
| Lending money to a friend can be dangerous.And of that, I speak empirically. This unwise practice puts both your friendship and hard-earned money at risk; so, if you must lend money to a friend, either present a contract or consider your money given away.
Today, I officially mentally erase all the debts that are owed to me. So you there, Mr. Guy-who-owes-me-$2000-and-haven't-called-me-since, you are no longer in my debt, financially speaking. This is a lesson we all learn the hard way. Then again, deep down, I know that even if time was kind enough to rewind itself to any of those fateful days, I might still lend money to those who have come to me for aid. Only this time, I'll have some papers for them to sign. Definitely.
If a needy friend wanted to borrow $2000 from you, and you happened to have $2000 lying around, how likely would it be for you to say yes?
P.S. I'm doing a photographic update tomorrow. To see how little I've progressed as a photographer, be sure to return every Sunday for arrogantly copyrighted pictures of my cat. (I'm kidding, my cat died last year.)
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| A night at the hospitalwas the last thing I thought I'd be doing on my one day off from work for weeks to come. But there I was, sitting next to my elderly father who looked a decade older than I remembered. The reality of finally losing him seemed closer than ever, and many thoughts I've put off since his prior visit to the hospital some eight years ago came rushing back.
The hostpital is the only place on earth where you can find every human emotion cramped into one scene. The look of distress and impatience of family members; the agony on the faces of needle recipients; the joyous reunions of brothers and sisters; the look of relief; lost; grief and confusion and sympathy all around me like a theatre of hominal expressions. I could relate to some better than others, but for the most part, I was void of any expression.
So while I was there, when my dad was fast asleep, I took the time to reflect upon the shortcomings of our father-son relationship. Coming from his era, my dad valued work and success above most aspects of life. Though his explanation for not retiring at 70 was to support the family, I knew his true intentions better than himself: to retire was to rot away at home. I had always understood that myself as his eldest could not satisfy his idea of a legacy. Implicitly and mutually, thought we loved each other as father and son, we were unsatisfied with each other to some degree. At 22, without a degree, and my entrepreneurial visions seemingly shortsighted, my apparent incompetence overwhelmed my image in my father's eyes. At the same time, though I was reluctant to, a part of me blamed my father for not providing for me what I needed from him both financially and spiritually. He would continue to refuse to hand me the family business, and I would continue to refuse to forgive him. A father and son stalemate.
Perhaps we have failed each other so many times that we have come to not depend on each other. I sat there for what seemed like an eternity, not noticing a teardrop running down my own cheek. In that moment in time, whether or not he depended on me, I wanted to fulfill my role. I placed my hand on his left arm, which he probably could not feel anymore, and continued reading the Nora Roberts novel in my other hand.
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| As most of you predicted at one point or another,Keni returns to Xanga. So I started working full-time again, which leaves me with no time for a real hobby; thus, I have decided to devote the 12 spare minutes I have everyday between getting off work and passing out on my bed to Xangaing. And, occasionally, hopelessly rubbing coffee stain from this patch of carpet. The sole purpose of this entire entry is declaring my untriumphant return to blogging, so feel free to discourage me by not commenting at all. In other news, I had chicken for dinner. | | |
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