Adonis Diaries

I woke up at 3:30 am and turned on the cable.  The timing was great: I resumed  the movie “The fisher-king” where I left it off a week ago; this time around I got hooked, finished the film and loved it.  The main melody was: “I love New York in June.  I love Gershwin tune. How about you?”  Then, out of nowhere, I got into thinking.

After all these years, I am still wondering “Why am I living? What for?”  That my parents fell in love, got married, out in the nowhere in Africa, that I am given birth, that I managed to survive at birth (I had no chance to live and mother insisted on feeding me against all odds), after several close calls from deadly diseases…

All these coincidences that got me where I am:  Still alive, living, and kicking.  Why had I to be among the living?  What is my purpose in life?  I have no skills to survive and yet, here I am.  I really have no passion for anything specific; whatever dreams, or desires that I might have had I forgot.

I recall an event at age 15.  I was walking home at noon from school for lunch break.  I closed my eyes and listened to traffic.  I decided that I will cross the busy street without looking for incoming cars.  Midway, a car stopped abruptly and honked indefinitely.  The driver was pale of fright and cursing me.  I looked at the driver with pity, and realized my foolish decision (I was to be dead or permanently handicapped).  Calmly, I continue waking home, told nobody, ate lunch, and just about forgot the entire event and the crazy decision.

So, is there anything wrong with me if I am enjoying the moment? I do enjoy my daily activities that are not within the scope of forced “earning money” busy body kind of work.

For example, I work my garden but have no expertise in anything related to dirt, moving dirt, or botany.  I wait for vegetable to grow to discriminate among the varieties that I sawed.  I once told a friend that I work my small garden (it is not that small for a single gardener).  He said: “Like what? Moving dirt from one place to another?”  I realized this week that indeed I was transferring dirt from one patch to another: Just like that, on a hunch.

All my important decisions were on impulses.  I travelled twice overseas for extended durations (supposedly to continue my graduate education), and had no rational or logical reasons to account for my decisions.  I didn’t plan my bold trip, reserve, apply for any  or the society and culture of the region.  All that I felt was: “Adonis, you are going to face big and challenging troubles.  You will not die this time around.  It is not yet your time.  You will survive against all odds.”  I am a stubborn guy but feared if I attempted to plan anything and time dragged in preparation that I might reverse my decision, which was not based on anything tangible or rational.  Things like that. 

I have no idea if my life would have change without decisions on impulse; most probably not.  The only advantage for impulsive decisions is that I acquired personal experiences that I can recall and write about.  I cannot figure out any other advantages.

I realized that I might be a sick person:  I call my case “scattered brain” syndrome.  Most probably, the American Psychiatry Association (ASA) huge catalogue has such a syndrome under a different technical label or category.  The ASA must have this “standard” syndrome, otherwise, I will be very disappointed:  I usually feel ecstatic as I rediscover the wheel, all by my own mental power.

Is feeling ecstatic re-discovering the wheel a bad thing? Is it good? To which ideology? To which economy? To which belief system?  To which world peace movement?

I have this “scattered brain” syndrome: I loved “The fisher king” and its consequences on getting me too far into thinking.