Adonis Diaries

Posts Tagged ‘Oklahoma

Trip to Paris and Oklahoma?

Note: Re-edit of “Numb at the Magnitude of the Unknown (Part 1, June, 2004)”

It was May of 1975.  I had just graduated in Physics from the Lebanese university.

I secured a student visa to the United States of America. I was to study English for the summer at a university in Oklahoma.

I did not know then that there was more than one university in Oklahoma. It turned out there were several and the university I applied for graduate study was Not the one I landed for English summer schooling.

The trip was not that urgent, but the civil war in Lebanon started to look serious and I dreaded Not be doing anything for the duration..

My inborn stubbornness clenched the deal and off I left.

Logically, my destination should have been France for graduate studies, but I was tired of theoretical education.

I figured that the US educational system was more hands on, practical… with upgraded labs and “stage” at factories…

I was wrong. It was mostly of the theoretical stuff.

It was my first trip away from family and home. I learned later that my mother played the fundamental role of convincing my father that it is time that I learn to be on my own and fly with my own wings.

My mother told me that the night I flew away my father cried his eyes out in his bed.

My father offered me $5,000. Two Lebanese pounds at the time was worth one dollar (Now, a single dollar is worth 1,500 LP)

I stayed in Paris for a couple of weeks, supposedly to visiting a student cousin of mine. My cousin Nassif happened to be vacationing in England with a girlfriend.

At the airport, no one searched me or welcomed me.

Before I exited the airport, an agent asked to search my luggage. Why me? No, it was Not a random search. I had to rearrange everything in my beaten suitcase.

Even then, France pinpointed specific passengers to be searched.

I met my friends Ghassan and Moussa who helped me rent a room where they stayed at a university complex for foreign students.

I toured Paris alone in metro and mostly on foot. Paris was gorgeous.

Strong with maps of trains and buses routes, I crisscrossed Paris from Mont St. Michel to the Louvre, and almost everything in between. Alone, all alone.

I walked Champ Elysee, Quartier Latin, Pigale…When I get tired walking I would join the closest train station and hop to another destination.

Breakfasts were delicious at the university low-ceiling breakfast restaurant .

Breakfast was the time to see all the various international students. The smell of fresh coffee, milk, bacon, eggs and fresh bread was appetizing.

The buffet was scattered with many varieties of fruits and drinks.

( I still dream of waking up to such a breakfast environment)

There was another restaurant for lunch and dinner, but the menu was dismal and Not tasty.

I landed first at New York at Laguardia airport. We were flying over the Oklahoma Territory, 22 hours after leaving Paris. We still had one hour to land.

It was pitched dark outside and I might have been feeling cold in the plane. One stewardess might have realized my haggard quietness.

An angel, no more than twenty years old, blonde, blue eyed, beautiful with a refreshing smile, and compassion transparent in her welcoming face.

She brought me a blanket without any request on my part and suggested to bring me some orange juice.

I felt then that it is okay to live in America and to know Americans. I wished I told her that I was scared, terrified, and numb at the magnitude of the unknown waiting for me.

I wished I told her that I needed to throw myself at her mercy and be helped.

I was lacking conversational skills and lacking practice in English.

I was not basically a social guy, though I enjoyed being among crowds.

Friends suffered me on account of my quietness: I painfully resigned myself for their impression of my “aura of bookish knowledge“.

Trip from Norman (Oklahoma) to San Francisco

Note 1: re-edit of my story from my autobiography: “San Francisco: Soothing recollections, May 31, 2009”

Note 2: I opened a special category on my blog “Travel/Excursion” to collect all my trips stories.

The trip to San Francisco from Oklahoma on Greyhound bus to attend the Human Factors convention in 1991 lasted almost 3 days and I spent my money on junk food.

I borrowed the fare for that trip from a friend.

We crossed flat Kansas and had a break in Santa Fe that looked pretty much Spanish/Mexican feeling. We pushed forward to Flagstaff, a major change in scenery. I am under the impression that high in Flagstaff there was snow.

Other than that I don’t recall what I saw or observed on the route before I reached San Francisco.

This is a period I’m still not ready to face, much less to write about. But I finally came around to tell it when writing my autobiography (Of Not famous people).

Suffice to admit that I roomed with my adviser in the hotel and that he woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me that my snoring was loud.

After the convention was over, I was on the verge of joining the file of the homeless.

I stayed at the studio of a referral that I got in Norman for one night in Ashbury Heights. I had later many occasions to walk this famous street during the period when the hippies selected it as headquarter for their movement.

The next morning I was feeling sick because of too much nervous tension. I called my cousin Nassif in Vancouver and all that I got was a reprimand “Adonis, you are always in trouble”.

I called Ali who was working in Canada but he had no referrals in San Francisco to stay over. I used an old number of Ali’s in Houston and it seems that this number connect him everywhere he relocates.

I know that I slept one night at an Algerian student who was the manager of the restaurant “Marrakech” that served Moroccan dishes; it was one of the longest nights and the most nerve wracking wait for this Algerian student to show up and pick me up.

It was a cold night and I waited for over three hours sitting on my suitcase wondering if he is ever going to show up. I had nowhere to go and no money for any decent lodging facility.

The next day I slept at a hostel for foreign student visitors for two nights in Downtown San Francisco.

The Algerian student referred me to two Spanish students living in a foggy neighborhood; the fog enveloped this quarter 20 hours a day. I had shelter for a week at the foreign students from Spain and they were very nice.

I managed to be hired in a full-service retirement hotel, for room and board in exchange of 4 hours work a day.

The Spanish students could not believe that I landed a job that quickly. I accepted all the overtime I could get in all the departments, until I was offered the job of assistant to the manager three weeks later.

I was fooled by the offer of $1,200 a month which turned out to be less than $900 after all kinds of deductions, but I fulfilled my “word” to stay a whole year in that position.

My cousin Patrick visited me once when he was attending a conference in San Francisco for the anesthesiologists.

I enjoyed my stay in this lovely city of San Francisco and visited frequently all its parks and waterfronts and beaches, carrying a book with me.

I had also located a nearby covered swimming pool that I patronized three times a week.

I had the opportunity to tour the neighboring towns around San Francisco with co-workers and a French older woman called Michelle that I helped secure a part-time position at the Hotel.  The red headed Michelle carried all her belonging in the trunk of her small beat up car and she invited me on her many excursions out of town.

I saw many famous locations because I was responsible for arranging tours to the elder residents and I was to be part of the trip for supervision purposes.  The City offered a van with a driver and we toured San Francisco once a week and I took pictures and described the tour in the monthly promotional brochure along with the monthly events in the Hotel.

I was caring for elder persons, mostly ladies, but in my state of confusion for my future and frustration in not finding within my spirit of what I loved to do for a job didn’t leave much space in my soul for sincere compassion.

Practically, I cared better than most of the managerial staff because I was new to this environment of human spiritual misery and I was highly respected by the “clients”.

The retirees knew of my higher education but never asked me “why are you working in such an institution with your degree?”. Iit is as people in the US are accustomed to see all kinds of individuals working temporary jobs that turned out to be more permanent than proclaimed.

One elder man of over 80 of age, tall and of powerful constitution, committed suicide a week after his “incarceration” by falling in a stairwell from the eighth floor.  Many of the elder ladies whom I cared for passed away during my job, but the manager made it for no one of us to realize how the dead person was vacated. I was not shaken emotionally, or that what I thought at the time.

I think that I read most of the famous authors who lived in and around San Francisco. I had a Mexican girlfriend. (You may read my post in the addendum to my introspection “Chica Lupita”)

I have toured Marin County, the forest of the highest Red trees, ventured to Monterrey, Big Sur, Little Sur, Carmel, and all the environs.

There was old Jake who was a gambling addict; he used to receive invitations from the casinos for free rooms in Reno.  Jake persisted in his invitations and I joined him twice because he needed company or to fulfill a condition of bringing someone along.

I played little and ate a lot in Reno; food and drinks were cheap and in abundance, and enjoyed looking at pretty servers too.

We traveled on two occasions as a group in a van belonging to an employee and spent glorious days up north and tasted wine in wine counties and farmhouses.

I recall that I had an interview for a job in statistical analysis and had to board several ferries to reach destination; luckily, I didn’t get the job but it was a good exposure for various transport facilities. All in all, my stay in San Francisco was the loveliest and most enriching experience in the US.

I recall taking the BART train to Menlo Park, an hour trip. I was to meet my ex-girlfriend Rose and we walked for a couple of hours in Downtown Menlo Park. She rejoined her ex-husband on reason of her two kids growing up. Her daughter Shannon was about to join a university.

During my stay in San Francisco I took the bus Greyhound to Boulder because my adviser sent me a letter that he was to deliver part of my dissertation to the convention of Human Factors Society and I wanted to attend it.

You can follow that trip on a separate trip story to Boulder, Colorado in my sub-category “Travel/Excursion”

The return trip from Boulder felt even longer.

A week later I was to confront a discrimination case battle.

There was this girl who claimed that I harassed her sexually and the case was dropped after weeks of hassles; she had no one to testify on her behalf.  This “American” girl , of a wealthy family, was pissed off that I got the position of assistant to the manager.

I had no hints of the power struggle that went on before I arrived to this hotel.  I wanted to resign but the manager convinced me that when I finish the whole year then I would be eligible for unemployment benefits of around $450 a month.

I finished the year and started to look for a steady job commensurate to my education.

I thus patronized an office on Van Ness Road that was funded by the City and aided with unemployment cases, such as writing CVs and how to tailor make your resume, and checking on the latest openings for work.

In one of my articles titled “Are you searching for a job?” I wrote:

“I recall that in 1991 the US was in serious recession during the Bush Sr. Administration and jobs were frighteningly scarce.  I had graduated with a PhD degree in Industrial/Human Factors engineering and missed better periods for hiring academicians.

I was working as assistant to manager at a retirement community in Downtown San Francisco and visited an employment center on Van ness Road. It was a center meant to help you out re-write your CV for the nth time, anytime you wanted to apply for the scarce job announcements posted in the center.

People swarmed this center just to feel busy and serious about searching for a job but Not that hot for finding one.  I guess the center was one of the hundreds of facilities with the sole purpose to blaming the citizens for failure to doing their due diligence and compete, since no one is about to beg you to work for them.

If you failed to re-write your CV and spent more money on useless stamps per day, then you are not making good use of this “valuable” help facility, or receiving a monthly stipend for trying to find a job.

This was the period when ridiculous denials were the custom of the land.

For example, this custodian at NASA who claims that he is contributing to sending astronauts to the moon; or redefining their jobs as sanitation “engineering”.

I recall during my graduate study that I was forced to accept a job cleaning and vacuuming the main library while working on my dissertation. I fooled my spirit into believing that as long as I am doing my job perfectly and with excitement then I am learning the value of a job well done, sort as a training period for toughening my character.

A state of denial is Not a bad reaction; it is successive states of denials that can be deleterious to your development”.

I was very curious and enjoyed being among crowds; I attended the public events such as Shakespeare in the park, the free open concerts, joined the homosexual yearly celebrations for curiosity reason, and the Latinos Days of Independence.

Unfortunately, I was mugged on a wonderful evening, just 50 feet from my hotel and at 10 pm, and I was hospitalized.

I never believed that I might be a statistics of the frequent mugging events.

Nobody in the hotel heard anything or even noticed what happened when I returned from the hospital.

I refrained from going out for three weeks.

Walking in San Francisco, even during the day, was no pleasure anymore: there were too many beggars along the streets and they were Not a peaceful lot.

I was glad to move to Washington DC for a change, but no city compares to San Fran in variety, beauty, and recreational facilities.

I never walked as much as in my two years stay in San Fran.

This was a wonderful period when I devoured all kinds of books on a daily basis. I had the pleasure to be acquainted with most of the famous Bay Areas authors from Henry Miller, to John Steinbeck, to Jack London, and the Beatnik movement.

Martha Graham’s advice to fellow dancer & choreographer Agnes de Mille

Chantal Mailhac shared a photo14 hrs · 
Image may contain: text

Miranda July. April 11, 2016 · 

(Martha Graham’s advice to fellow dancer & choreographer Agnes de Mille)

Forget destination and enjoy the trip? What if neither are satisfying?  August 14, 2012

Fifty years later, I am under the impression that none of my destinations were researched, Not at all.

I knew almost nothing of my destinations.

I was always heading to the unknown: No one waiting for me, not a single acquaintance to meet with, no one to guide me, to host me

On my first trip overseas, at the age of 25 in the summer of 1975, I was not even accepted at the university, and had no idea of Oklahoma, location, universities and State.

After a 25-hour air trip, landing and departing from airports, lugging along my broken cheap carton suitcase,  it was after midnight and I was in a total blank.  A nice black worker at the airport suggested the nearest Holiday Inn to spend the night…

Is it possible that you head to a metropolis and you don’t make the effort to figure out what to expect?

Is it possible to close your account, give away what you cannot carry with you, exit a town, a city, a familiar environment and go west, east…to the unknown? Not a job waiting for you, a friend to shelter you…?

How can you enjoy the trip in these conditions?

A slow bus, a slower train, travelling for days and nights on the road, not a dime in your pocket, and having to stop in every tiny village, to stretch your legs and supposedly to get a bite on the quick

A slow Greyhound bus, a slower rickety train going south to Texas, taking 17 hours doing detours, going deep south before turning and heading back toward San Antonio… And for what?

There were no communication facilities, no laptops, no internet, no iPhone… Just your seat and the night and the blazing sun and lonely stopovers, see one see all…

Enjoying which trip? And what if you are not a socializing type?

Riding in a car, the driver anxious to reach destination and feeling that you have to keep company, constantly chat, lest the driver falls asleep… And you were not trained to chat and converse?

Driving 18 straight hours, and the driver refusing to make a small detours to enjoy the scenery, for days, and you have to stay awake, for polite and safety sake… Enjoying what trip?

Joining cruises and tourist vacations suit me fine: They are paid to plan, schedule and ride me around.

As long as I am entitled to a good night sleep and a lavish breakfast, I am a clam.

I don’t recall sitting for breakfast, and I love sumptuous breakfast. Actually, if left alone, I don’t try to get my breakfast: it gives me the urge to go back for a snooze at my age.

I discovered that any kind of breakfast leaves me hungry all day long. Sort of the sight of any bakery makes me feel like screaming: “Stop. I feel ravenous…”

Come to think of it, the living sucks: You skip one inkling and you are caught off guard by another emergency urge. “Stop right now. I have got to piss...”

Travelling, the trip, the destination… to do what again? For what purpose?

Just running away from your shadow, the further the better, and being disrupted at the turn of your flight…

To newer situations , stranger in a town, newer set of discrimination, newer re-learning of your environment, waking up and wondering “where am I? Why I am here…?” for many morning, before your apathy sets in and you get familiar with your newer conditions, never improving, never-changing for the better…

All that really changed were superficial first impressions of how people judge you: I grow long hair and shave it, grow mustaches and shave them, grow goatee and shave it, rarely would I change my corrective eyeglasses (could never afford this luxury)

All the while, I never grew an inch taller

All the while, my nose never shrank

As if you change location, you might stumble on an ethnic community who will find you an Adonis, with the characteristics of a perfect ideal male in the eyes of the female gender…

Forget destination and enjoy the trip?

My only wish in life is to enjoy a destination and the trip too.  While I’m in good physical shape… And feeling hot.

The Sweetest Word: Revolution.  (June 2, 2009)

 

First, a few quotations on revolution and a song might set the tone of this post.

 

A popular French song of the thirties “We will feel our soul live.  We will feel our heart beat.  As we feel the flame rekindle then we will be able to speak with joy.  Be capable finally to love life.  We then stop crying waking up and we’ll shout: I have a homeland since I have my share of the sun”

 

Simon Veil wrote in 1951 on the Worker’s Condition; “We plied, submitted, endured everything in silence for years and then we dared to stand up tall.  This strike (of 1936) is a joy, a pure joy and unadulterated. For the first time and forever, this joy will float around heavy machineries instead of the recollection of silence, constraints, and submission”

 

“The revolution is neither sadness nor bitterness.  It is enthusiasm and pride of an entire people who took things in their hands and discovered its dignity.  I am inviting you to the party, a celebration that is the logical conclusion of a job well done and a new resolve for other demanding struggles pregnant with promises”

 

“It is a fake courage to joining a militant group and be martyred.  The real courage is the daily struggle, voluntarily consented by an intelligent guy willing to look stupid by society so that he may resume pissing off the power to be. Real courage is to sacrifice your actor personality and replace it by the genuine character of someone not about to be subdued any longer and refusing to take it silently”

 

“They failed to comprehend that we have been nice for five weeks, we said nothing, and we restrained our anger. They had sheep and now they have to deal with lions”

 

“Whoever saw privileges has to reap revolutions” (in My Uncle Benjamin, 1843)

“History teaches us that who defends privileges will not cede in good grace the shove from below”

 

“Capitalism is a deluxe liner with many watertight compartments.  You have capitalist political parties proclaiming to be republicans, democrats, socialists, progressistes, free thinkers, or seculars.  If capitalists had one party they would have long been defeated.  The fact is when you defeat one capitalist party the remaining ones keep the boat afloat”

 

Rosa Luxemburg wrote in 1899 “Whoever is in favor of legal reforms instead of capturing political power and social revolution is not in reality selecting a more tranquil, slower, and surer alternative for the same goal.  Whoever is in favor of legal reforms has decided on a different purpose that is not intended to establishing a new society and the suppression of salary, but another weighting scale for exploitation”

 

“The people do not render sentences as in judicial courts; people hurl thunderbolts.” Robespierre in 1792

“If we are living it is to walk on the head of the powerful.  The powerful labor to trample over our lives” William Shakespeare in Henry 4.

 

 “We are fighting to defeat stratification policies along castes; we want a society that discriminates only on talent and qualifications”

 

“I ignore where the next struggle is going to take place: I’ll be there. Somewhere the sparkle will catch on to the entire world.  The masses will stand tall and ready to shake off the parasite in their mane of lions” Louise Michel in “Memoirs”, 1886

 

“Everything is possible now; quickly march on, straight ahead. This opportunity is not coming around for a long while”

 

            During France Sarkozy campaign for the presidency youth of the center and the right brandished banners saying “We, the youth, are carrying the revolution. Proclaiming abrupt changes disturbs and surprises but this is a revolution of youth on the march and bearing the burden of change for France.  We want to change France from the inner out. Autonomy at universities is a revolution. Caring for the environment is a revolution.”  I don’t know how much Sarkozy’s ideology or programs coincided with these “revolutionary” youth but they brought him to power.

 

It is becoming clear that the most effective and enduring revolutions were not based on ideologies.  Victorious revolutions are the convergence of two factors; first, the vast majority realizes that the political order is not treating them as citizens with equal rights and responsibilities, that certain classes enjoy privileges that are denied them; an the second factor is the making of a professional core of militants working full time for the success of the revolution; professionals in agitation, organization, dissemination of the message, and specialist activists.  A few demands and lovely abstract notions that are never detailed in specific programs are usually enough if the core specialists are united for a clear and feasible strategy of the revolution. Spread subtle and judicious innuendos that can be translated and assimilated according to the vagary of the moment, then lie and the keeping up of the same lie and people will finally come around into believing the lie and follow in due time.  The hardest part is how to channel the emotions when the people spring up; it is then that revolutions kill their sons.

 

I recall that in the small university town of Norman, Oklahoma, the real and professionalism of the Iranian students militating to the overthrow of the Shah and some to the coming to power of Khomeini set the town vibrating with excitement.  The Shah was bad; he is bad.  The Shah was a pivotal ally to the US strategy in the Middle East.  The Shah and militaristic Turkey secured the propensity of Israel to expand and humiliate the Middle Eastern and Palestinian people. The Palestinians and the Arab students joined the Iranian demonstrations and the Iranian students joined the Palestinian students’ demonstrations. There was no internet then but the messages and the dissemination were as quick and as potent as any powerful website. Political students got on marching, demonstrating almost everyday and no occasions were missed to gather and discuss openly.  The Iranian students were militating full time and with professionalism.

note: we have an orange/yellow revolution on june 7, 2009

San Francisco: Soothing recollections May 31, 2009

The trip to San Francisco from Oklahoma to attend the Human Factors convention lasted almost 3 days and I spent my money on junk food. This is a period I’m still not ready to face much less to write about but I finally came around to tell it. Suffice to admit that I roomed with my adviser in the hotel and that he woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me that my snoring was loud.

After the convention was over, I was on the verge of joining the file of the homeless. I stayed at the studio of a referral that I got in Norman for one night in Ashbury Heights. I had later many occasions to walk this famous street during the period when the hippies selected it as headquarter for their movement.

The next morning I was feeling sick because of too much nervous tension. I called my cousin Nassif in Vancouver and all that I got was a reprimand “Adonis, you are always in trouble”. I called Ali who was working in Canada but he had no referrals in San Francisco to stay over. I used an old number of Ali’s in Houston and it seems that this number connect him everywhere he relocates.

I know that I slept one night at an Algerian student who was the manager of the restaurant “Marrakech” that served Moroccan dishes; it was one of the longest nights and the most nerve wracking wait for this Algerian student to show up and pick me up.

It was a cold night and I waited for over three hours sitting on my suitcase wondering if he is ever going to show up. I had nowhere to go and no money for any decent lodging facility.  The next day I slept at a hostel for foreign student visitors for two nights in Downtown San Francisco.

The Algerian student referred me to two Spanish students living in a foggy neighborhood; the fog enveloped this quarter 20 hours a day. I had shelter for a week at the foreign students from Spain and they were very nice.

I managed to be hired in a full-service retirement hotel, for room and board in exchange of 4 hours work a day. The Spanish students could not believe that I landed a job that quickly. I accepted all the overtime I could get in all the departments, until I was offered the job of assistant to the manager three weeks later.  I was fooled by the offer of $1,200 a month which turned out to be less than $900 after all kinds of deductions but I fulfilled my “word” to stay a whole year in that position.

My cousin Patrick visited me once when he was attending a conference in San Francisco for the anesthesiologists. I enjoyed my stay in this lovely city of San Francisco and visited frequently all its parks and waterfronts and beaches, carrying a book with me.

I had also located a nearby covered swimming pool that I patronized three times a week.  I had the opportunity to tour the neighboring towns around San Francisco with co-workers and a French older woman called Michelle that I helped secure a part-time position at the Hotel.  The red headed Michelle carried all her belonging in the trunk of her small beat up car and she invited me on her many excursions out of town.

I saw many famous locations because I was responsible for arranging tours to the elder residents and I was to be part of the trip for supervision purposes.  The City offered a van with a driver and we toured San Francisco once a week and I took pictures and described the tour in the monthly promotional brochure along with the monthly events in the Hotel.

I was caring for elder persons, mostly ladies, but in my state of confusion for my future and frustration in not finding within my spirit of what I loved to do for a job didn’t leave much space in my soul for sincere compassion.  Practically, I cared better than most of the managerial staff because I was new to this environment of human spiritual misery and I was highly respected by the “clients”.

The retirees knew of my higher education but never asked me “why are you working in such an institution with your degree?”; it is as people in the US are accustomed to seeing all kinds of individuals working temporary jobs that turned out to be more permanent than proclaimed.

One elder man of over 80 of age, tall and of powerful constitution, committed suicide a week after his “incarceration” by falling in a stairwell from the eighth floor.  Many of the elder ladies whom I cared for passed away during my job but I was not shaken emotionally, or that what I thought at the time.

I think that I read most of the famous authors who lived in and around San Francisco. I had a Mexican girlfriend. (You may read my post in the addendum to my introspection “Chica Lupita”)

I have toured Marin County, the forest of the highest Red trees, ventured to Monterrey, Big Sur, Little Sur, Carmel, and all the environs.  There was old Jake who was a gambling addict; he used to receive invitations from the casinos for free rooms in Reno.  I joined him twice because he needed company.

I played little and ate a lot; food and drinks were cheap and in abundance, and enjoyed looking at pretty servers too.  We traveled on two occasions as a group in a van belonging to an employee and spent glorious days up north and tasted wine in wine counties and farmhouses.

I recall that I had an interview for a job in statistical analysis and had to board several ferries to reach destination; luckily, I didn’t get the job but it was a good exposure for various transport facilities. All in all, my stay in San Francisco was the loveliest and most enriching experience in the US.

During my stay in San Francisco I took the bus Greyhound to Boulder because my adviser sent me a letter that he was to deliver part of my dissertation to the convention of Human Factors Society and I wanted to attend it. It was a long trip of two days and we passed through Salt Lake City and I visited the temple of the Mormons.

There was snow and the University of Boulder was lovely. During the second day of the convention my advisor failed to show up and I had no copy of my dissertation and I felt frustrated for not being prepared to deliver anything even though I was invited by the chairperson of the session to do it.  I had the opportunity to tour Denver by night and boarded the spacious and large bus that crosses Main Street.

The return trip was long. A week later I was to battle a discrimination case.  There was this girl who claimed that I harassed her sexually and the case was dropped after weeks of hassles; she had no one to testify on her behalf.  The girl was pissed off that I got the position of assistant to the manager. I had no hints of the power struggle that went on before I arrived to this hotel.  I wanted to resign but the manager convinced me that when I finish the whole year then I would be eligible for unemployment benefits of around $450 a month.

I finished the year and started to look for a steady job commensurate to my education.  I thus patronized an office on Van Ness Road that was funded by the City and aided with unemployment cases, such as writing CVs and how to tailor make your resume, and checking on the latest openings for work.  In one of my posts titled “Are you searching for a job?” I wrote:

“I recall that in 1991 the US was in serious recession during the Bush Sr. Administration and jobs were frighteningly scarce.  I had graduated with a PhD degree in Industrial/Human Factors engineering and missed better periods for hiring academicians.

I was working as assistant to manager at a retirement community in Downtown San Francisco and visited an employment center on Van ness Road. It was a center meant to help you out rewrite your CV for the nth time anytime you wanted to apply for the scarce job announcements posted in the center.

People swarmed this center just to feel busy and serious about searching for a job but not that hot for finding one.  I guess the center was one of the hundreds of facilities with the sole purpose to blaming the citizens for failure to doing their due diligence and compete since no one is about to beg you to work for them.  If you failed to re-write your CV and spent more money on useless stamps per day then you are not making good use of this “valuable” help facility.

This was the period when ridiculous denials were the custom of the land. For example, this custodian at NASA who claims that he is contributing to sending astronauts to the moon; or redefining their jobs as sanitation “engineering”.  I recall that I was forced to accept a job cleaning and vacuuming the main library while working on my dissertation.

I fooled my spirit into believing that as long as I am doing my job perfectly and with excitement then I am learning the value of a job well done, sort as a training period for toughening my character.  A state of denial is not a bad reaction; it is successive states of denials that can be deleterious to your development”.

I was very curious and enjoyed being among crowds; I attended the public events such as Shakespeare in the park, the free open concerts, joined the homosexual yearly celebrations, and the Latinos Days of Independence.  Unfortunately, I was mugged on a wonderful evening 50 feet from my hotel and I was hospitalized.  I never believed that I might be a statistics. Nobody in the hotel heard anything or even noticed what happened when I returned from the hospital.

I refrained from going out for three weeks.  Walking in San Francisco even during the day was no pleasure anymore: there were too many beggars along the streets and they were not a peaceful lot.  I was glad to move to Washington DC for a change but no city compares to San Fran in variety, beauty, and recreational facilities.

I never walked as much as my two years stay in San Fran.  This was a wonderful period when I devoured all kinds of books on a daily basis; I had the pleasure to be acquainted with most of the famous Bay Areas authors from Henry Miller, to John Steinbeck, to Jack London, and the Beatnik movement.

Introspection: Rose (Addendum #8)

An Inch Taller Than Her Country Girls (Dec. 2002)

I love, respect and admire Rose. I will cherish her for the rest of my life.

She loved me, helped me unconditionally ,and worried for me.

This said, I apologize for my candid story, but it has to be candid for my own benefit. The story started in Norman, Oklahoma, in 1988.

Rose was short but boasted to be taller than most Filipinas.

She took pride to have a lighter skin than most Filipinas.

Apparently, she was part Chinese, from her father’s side. Her mother was tall, huge and large, a pretty contrast to Rose.

Rose married a giant of an American in the Philippine and divorced him when they settled in the USA.

Rose had a smart girl, Shannon, and a boy, Jason, who grew to be big.  Both kids are of large stature and well-behaved.

Rose worked awfully hard at many jobs to make ends meet.

I met her at a night club in Norman, a thirty minutes drive from Oklahoma City where she lived. She liked to dance a lot and wanted to dance with me. Rose had thick prescription glasses, like mine, and always wore pants.

She was stylish, spent at least a couple of hours on her make-up, and another hour for its removal before going to bed. Rose also sold cosmetics on the side, the sort of multilayered selling agent.

That night, she gave me a lift in her car to her apartment in the city. In her bedroom she stood on my feet and kissed me.She said: “You are thinking too much. If it was not obvious what I want, you would not be in my bedroom“.We shared a hot bath.

I was shocked at the sight of her hips, tremendously large, naked; her waist was uncharacteristically thin. She was plagued by nasty varicose from her knees down to her ankles.

Her varicose was a visual handicaps only, but no real bother in her active life, since she never complained or shown tiredness.

Rose consulted a cosmetic surgeon for her drooping right eyelid, in order to be pleasing to me, she said, though I never brought up any of her physical aspects. The consequences of the surgery were too dangerous and the physician did not recommend it.

Shortly after we met, she had to removed her appendix and she was terribly disappointed when I failed to visit her at the hospital: I had no car and public transportation were practically unavailable.

Rose once paid me an evening surprise visit at my lab in the basement of the engineering department. We were alone and kissed tenderly, at every corner of the room and in the corridors. I had completely forgotten about this event and what we did, but for her reminiscences about us. I certainly did not tell her that I had forgotten about these tender moments that she absolutely cherished.

Once, while making love, I slapped her behind one time too many. She looked at me in bewilderment. “Why are you doing that?” she said.

What could I say? That I watched a movie about behind slapping or a friend told me that women liked being slapped on their behind? I did not even apologize.

I am not hot in biology or anatomy, though I should have been an expert as a Human Factors graduate.  I know about G-points, but not on which side or how many. From a few of my experiences, it seems they are located on the left side of the vagina: The translation direction pointed that way.With Rose, the G-points may be distributed in a circumference.

Once her vagina grabs me, I am captured and made prisoner: no egress, no ingress or any kind of “gress”: She rotates slowly, steadily in a constant velocity.

One day, I was depressed on account of my uncertain future and difficulty with my PhD experiments and writing up this boring thesis, and Rose got worried. She said to me: “You are not enjoying our love-making. Is it me?” I lied and said: “It is because you don’t give me much freedom in my movement. I need to feel in control, now and then.” Rose let me do my way this one nigh, just to please me as usual.

There was a period Rose was angry with me, more like depressed.She then called me to make up. Fifteen minutes before her arrival, a male colleague and friend of mine came to visit. He stayed longer than usual and I told him that I am expecting someone. He was about to leave as Rose showed up.

Rose was furious and got even nasty and said: “What! You need a friend to mediate?

I had this nervous laugh that I did not mean at all, a laugh that could be interpreted as a mockery, for this ridiculous chain of circumstances. Rose ran out crying and did not stop. I could not reach her again.  She vanished.

A girl friend of Rose told me that she resigned from her job and moved to another State with her kids. Rose told me later that she could not suffer being that close to me and keep on living. No man would do a move that stupid! Would he?

After I graduated in May of 1991 with a PhD degree in Industrial Engineering, I mailed to her a long letter to Nashville, Tennessee. Women have this knack of seeing in a letter much more than what it is. Rose immediately flew back to me.

As soon as she entered my apartment, she unzipped my pants and gave me a blow job; her first with me. She is not the type to swallow sperms and went to the bathroom to spit it.  She said: “Gee, it kept growing and growing in my mouth.I did not know yours could have it that huge.“Then, I promised her to join her in Nashville soon.

A couple of acquaintances gave me a lift on their way to Kentucky.The guy was to stay at his folks for the summer and his girl friend was to pick me up on her return trip. The same night Rose took me out on a romantic tour.

A girl friend of hers accompanied us. Rose wanted her friend as a witness to what she thought would be a declaration of love. I had no intention of declaring anything. It might have crossed my mind to marry her for the purpose of obtaining a “Green Card”, but even a temporary commitment is a huge tribute to pay.

I slept on the sofa that night and the following night. The third night she moved me into her bed for the duration of the visit. I tried applying for a position in that period of acute recession during Bush Senior Presidency.

I even experimented with selling books for a multilevel scheme company.

Rose reluctantly let me use her brand new Japanese car. I don’t drive other people cars, but I was dead broke. The company allocated me a neighborhood to sell the “book of the week” that was to be promoted…

The deal is that you don’t miss a house or a business office in the area and you tour the streets clockwise to close the loop. You leave the customers the book of the week for three days for their perusal You come back the next week to retrieve the book or sell it.

We had to be at the warehouse at six in the morning, followed by a military style pep talk and then we are trained to memorize definite phrases to eliminate hesitations and how to close deals.

At six in the evening we had to learn the accounting procedures for our business and stay way after eight or even nine.  Supposedly, a few of our role models who were poor in math learned to add and subtract, to harangue, and to get rich.  I lost money in the final analysis because a few books could not be accounted for.

Rose’s ex-husband was to drop by for a few days and I decided to execute my plan to attend a conference in San Francisco and to stay there applying for jobs afterwards.

The graduate woman student picked me up on her way back to Oklahoma in her tiny beige VW.  I vividly remember we didn’t say a word during the entire trip. She didn’t ask questions and I was very worried on what I should be doing next.  It would have been polite to inquire how was her stay and let her start a conversation. I am obviously not good at communicating or socializing.

A friend lent me $100 for the Greyhound bus fare. The trip to San Fran lasted almost 3 days and I spent my money on junk food.

This is a period I’m still not ready to face, much less to write about. Suffice to admit that I roomed with my adviser in the hotel, and that he woke me up to tell me that my snoring was loud.

After the convention was over, I was on the verge of joining the file of the homeless. I managed to be hired in a full-service retirement hotel, for room and board in exchange of 4 hours work a day. I accepted all the overtime I could get in all the various departments, until I was offered the job of assistant to the manager two weeks later.

Rose visited me and I reserved a room for her in the hotel. I managed to make love to her a couple of times only. She sarcastically complained to the manager: “Adonis kept showing me San Francisco; as if I cared.”

Rose moved to Palo Alto with her ex-husband, supposedly in separate rooms, so that she could be closer to her kids who were now studying in California.

We kept meeting in San Francisco, going to parks, holding hands, but not talking much. We did not attempt any king of love-making but we made up for a few furtive kisses.

I was dating another girl but I did not tell Rose. That is not the reason for not making love: I am basically faithful to my old flames. The truth is that she did not ask me explicitly, and I had resigned my position as assistant to the manager: I had lost a few of the perks and advantages that come with a title.

Rose remarried her ex-husband as of her last letter to me before I moved to Washington DC.

Introspection: Hilda (Addendum #7)

You’re Hungry, Eh!? (Nov. 2002)

Every single book in her apartment was wrapped in a plastic bag. She was allergic to dust. Hell, she was allergic to almost everything. She kept a huge, black Labrador inside. Maybe the plastic bags were to keep her dear dog from getting unduly dusty. The place smelt of dog in every pore of it: Another overpowering odor that can hugely depress me. The dog was her best friend, maybe her unique real friend. Hilda was dead confident that she could see her dog smile and feel him/her when depressed; yes, Hilda had a thorough knowledge of the dog psychological moods.

Like many women there, dogs are at the center of their lives. Crucial decisions were based on the dog feedback. A husband, boyfriend or whoever, was to agree with the dog emotions or vacate immediately.

What is it with indoor dogs? I know a friend of mine who married an American girl. She was a political activist, and lived with her lifetime dog. Many years later and now married to a Lebanese girl and living in Lebanon, my friend still keeps a dog indoor. I do suspect the dog is a living prompter of a past when he was younger, happier, very much in love, with big expectations and ready to improve the world dialectically, and ultimately, taming these blood-sucking, capitalist imperialists.

Hilda was with a girl friend of hers at a dark dancing club. Hilda had black thinning hair, cropped very short, in spikes. Heavy, thick and non colored prescription glasses were hiding her eyes. She looked desperate for a lay and her eyes followed me persistently. Her girl friend was nudging her and encouraging her to make a move. Hilda finally managed to invite me to dance with her. I reluctantly agreed.

Hilda drove me in her car to her place at the outskirt of town. In the much better lighted room, I noticed villain large blue blotches on both her arms. I needed to run away on the spot, but for my acquired politeness, I decided to stay a little longer.

For the first time I saw her feet.  They were neat, large and strong. I liked these feet. A woman with feet like that signal to me security and protection for her male. So, we shared a hot bath. I sponged and massaged leisurely her feet more than needed.

Hilda turned out not to be so desperate tonight.

She asked plenty and well targeted questions. She wanted to come to a safe decision, for a safe sex. Meanwhile, I reached the part of my life story where I admitted being born in Africa and that I lived there, lately, for a year. I could hear the click in her mind:  Oh! No, no and no! What about AIDS and the million other diseases, stupid!

Damnation! I thought that I won’t be seeing these feet again.

We cuddled up in bed, stark naked, Including her thick eyeglasses and mine.

God! She had really beautiful large green eyes, and her face was just lovely, lying on a bed and without glasses. Hilda displayed round and hard bosoms, a slim waist and an exquisite stomach, lean and mean for her age. She had a perfect body in bed, but for these large blue blotches on her arms.

Damned feet! They got me over excited and cut short on my foreplay. She liked to kiss very much, kissed me all over my gorgeous body. I mounted her in haste and tried to penetrate her clumsily and in vain. She wouldn’t let me in, no way.

I ejected prematurely between her soft thighs. Hilda was in the meantime in ecstasy;

She was frankly moaning which increased my bewilderment and dejection.

Hilda had decided that no intercourse is to be consummated with this African touring man. I turned over on my back and blurted out: “Oh boy, am I hungry!” She lost her control and screamed: “Hungry, eh!? You want to eat right now, eh!? Right away, eh!? What’s wrong with you men?  You feel hungry right away? What about resting a while longer?”

This early ejection reminds me of another story with Helga over seven years earlier.

She was a middle-aged German, working at a luxury restaurant. In her dim room with a leopard spread cover on her bed, I was frantically trying to enter her, and vigorously making love to her. After I ejected, she sadly but forcefully said:

“God damn it Adonis, didn’t you know that you were still out?”

I decided, then and there, to ask my future bed companions to insert me themselves. It turned out to be a great rewarding decision in life.

Let us go back to our original story with Hilda and not Helga the German middle-aged woman. We had breakfast sooner than expected. Hilda made up for losing her temper a minute ago. Back to bed, she gave me a brain liquefying blow job. The process was thorough, complete from A to Z. She acted as if she was enjoying a delicious ice cream cone: A lick from the top, then several on the sides.

She kept at me after I was long done, and I experienced a forced lasting erection. I patronized her place a couple of times more for her expert specialty when I come to think of liquid or liquefaction or ice cream.

If you are interested in a girl from down South, please, do not mention visiting Africa.


Josephine (Addendum #6 of auto-biography)

 

Twenty Kitties around Josephine (Nov. 2002)

 

 

I met Josephine at the Zanzibar, a dancing night club; a club in a hole of a University town.  I’m told the town has expanded so much it is almost a city. This is the fate of any town, close to a major city, Oklahoma City. That was about 1988.

 

She was with a couple of her girlfriends; and like them, in their late thirties’ or mid-forty’s. Josephine was pretty, skinny with reddish long, long hair. She was looking surreptitiously at me and I invited her to dance. We danced a lot and crazily. The slow dances turned much slower, tight and erotic.

 

We had a date the next day. Josephine came a little late as it should be. She parked her old, heavy, noisy and yellow American car in front of my apartment complex.

It was my friends’ apartment; one from Tunisia and the other from Morocco. They were on an extended vacation trip.

 

Josephine had had her hair cut short “a la garcon” in the morning, a major let down. I didn’t even express my displeasure or mentioned her new hair style. She was wearing a short, a very white short, and thongs. Her legs were very skinny and her skin was English white/bluish, and pink around the knees.

 

I felt a surge of shame: A lady her age should have a moderate sense of modesty:  People might rightly assume a money transaction in that visit, which was not.

 

Josephine inspected the premise quickly and indicated a room of her liking.

I objected lamely that my friend would have objected and she did not insist.

We went to the living room and she took off her scant cloths. Then, we threw pillows on the gray carpet for bed. Abruptly, Josephine proposed the back intercourse, the shit hole. I recovered my senses reasoning that there is always a first after all.

 

She leaned over a sofa. I enjoyed the view of her smooth, round and pink behind.

That part of hers looked in its twenties in that posture. In the meanwhile, I asked her if she is enjoying it. “Not really, it is as if I need to shit” she said. A serious inquiry was appropriate since she proposed this position. I refrained at the last second to reply, feeling quite sure, that Josephine had idiosyncrasies about Arabs’ preferences.

It was just an inner reflection, though I think it was my duty and a responsibility to expound on the topic and remove any misunderstanding.

 

We moved to our makeshift bed and resumed a long late foreplay. We were tender, affectionate and delicate. She proposed a joint and I admitted that a unique draw is enough for me. I was the wiser to inhaling only once since the performance was fantastic. I had another draw, much later, when the effect subsided. The third performance was even better.

By the by, from one finger I upgraded to my entire fist. Josephine kept a steady crescendo whine for a long time and I got scared. I stopped and asked her if she was feeling all right. That is how naïve and virgin I was in that field.

 

I recall the first time I smoked a joint. I was in a convertible Alfa Romeo with two Lebanese guys. We were heading toward the lake on a summer full moon night.

My friends were having a great time, speeding and listening to “Leila”, a guitar song played by Eric Clapton. They laughed a lot while I had a hell of problems keeping the lids of my red eyes open.

 

I twice experienced smoking a joint in groups, never alone, just “to train my endurance” for a better fit among smokers. Once, my friends had to leave without me to see a movie and dance. When they returned 4 hours later, I was still lying on the sofa, my eyes closed shut, listening to music, trying to differentiate the timbers among the different musical instruments knowing full well that my ignorance in formal music is nil.

 

The third instance was in a park, close by my apartment. I was enjoying an afternoon open concert in a beautiful summer day. I woke up and the park was empty and dark already. I walked my bike home.

 

Once, I visited a gorgeous girl at her apartment.  She used to dance nude at a bar 10 years ago. She asked me if I smoked joints.  I was candid and told her that I can withstand only one puff. We had no further dates.

 

Josephine finished off the joint in a delicious rapture. I discovered the positive side effects of taking one draw: I felt myself a regenerated stud to the satisfying appreciation of Josephine. We had another go at love and I bathed in her glowing face and younger smile. I understood then the saying: “Love makes young”.

 

She had finished a second joint and I inhaled one puff. I inserted a finger, then a second, then a third. As I said previously, Josephine was moaning softly and continuously.  When my entire tiny hand was in her, her moaning rose to an additional octave for a long time and I got scared. I asked her whether she was all right.  She opened her eyes as from a long dream. I felt stupid and regretted cutting short whatever she was experiencing. I also regretted the deficiencies of males in that pleasurable sport.

 

Josephine told me that she is keeping two dozens of cats in her home. She had a name for every cat. She is well versed on the psychological character and behavior of every single cat of hers. I felt curious and asked her when I can visit her. She categorically denied me any visit and I felt totally relieved.

 

I intended not to tell my friends about this visit to the apartment. But the Moroccan guy found out from a girl friend of his. He was pissed off. I exacerbated the situation by gloating that we tried every corner of the apartment, including his bed. My Moroccan friend avoided me then for months. He did not feel handicapped about pissing in the lavatory. I didn’t mind:  I believe they had started treating waste water in the USA.

 

Josephine introduced me to her married son at Zanzibar. It was a planned surprise!  Her son behaved properly and shook my hand.

Josephine invited me to her girlfriends’ house too. She was fluttering around the place chatting and singing.  Josephine was displaying her beau. She sat on my laps, hugged me and kissed me all the while. I felt intimidated and absolutely awkward.  I sat stiff and stoic. I could not join the group in their intimate relationships. I felt that I was a certified self-centered ignoramus.

I was amid lively butterflies, though older and oversized. I am sorry that I failed befriending these ladies, real ones for a change.

 

By then, I had moved with an elder woman who thought that she is still young:  Her son wanted me to sleep there for security  and for emergency reasons.  I had just a room; the woman didn’t entitle to share the kitchen.  I had spent a night at a dancing bar with Josephine and she gave me ride at 4 a.m.  Josephine was drunk; I was not: I could not afford to get drunk.  Josephine wanted to spend the night with me in my room.  I told her that it was not appropriate and that the elder woman would not appreciate extraneous activities in her home.  That is how stupid I was and for a long time.

 

Josephine moved with a black man, a handsome, friendly addict and a drug pusher.  He lived at her home with the kitties around.  Marvin ended up in prison and Josephine had to bail him out. Josephine was alcoholic but she was fighting courageously for her rights to have the most pleasures in this lifetime.

 

Josephine won an even bigger battle: Josephine learned not to discriminate against origins, races or colors.

Introspection: Barbara (Addendum #1)

Barbara made me walk on air

Note: I have written most of the addendum of my autobiography at least six years earlier, as I was trying to learn more about my behaviors by re-creating my life story, during a somewhat depressed phase, after my return to Lebanon.  I have realized that the best refresher for memory is to recall your relationship with women.  It seems that the extreme mood swings of women leave strong marks on memory.  The resilient nature of women and their compassion, when in love, cannot but add clues to your emotional levels and the trajectory of improvement to understanding life’s complex fabrics. These addenda are sort of detailed introspection of the daily emotions.

I Should Have Told Barbara (Jan. 2003)

Sue insisted that I get in touch with her sister Barbara on my trip to Los Angeles. It was the  summer of 1976.

I was in the USA for less than 11 months, my first ever trip outside my country. The International Office at the University of Oklahoma arranged a trip for one week to California, for some of us new international students.

We were to meet American families in this exchange program.  I did not care meeting any American families for the time being, but I needed to get away in my second summer and wanted to see California.  I was 27 of age and had never tasted a cigarette yet.

The International student adviser knew about my Near Eastern origin. The program matched me with an old Jewish couple in Pasadena. The husband was very helpful and friendly but his wife gave me the impression that she agreed reluctantly to join the program. The house was large with an unkempt garden.  The interior looked old, traditional, very gloomy, and smelling like it was never aerated and reeking of old people. It is a crime to surprise youths with living among old people without prior preparations and warnings. We should be reminded that elder people are great people, still very much living humans, who could be funny, and could be functional…

We had a general gathering the first day with all the families and various students. Then we were given the daily program of places to see and whatever. We were to see Disney Land the next day for free.  I declined the invitation: Disney Land is for kids. I remember that I had another chance to visit Disney for free, two years later. I again declined. Disney was still just for kids.

Many years later, I discovered that everybody liked to see Disney, including kids. I never saw Disney in California, but the smaller version in Orlando with my nephews. My little nephews and nieces, then 5 in total, loved Disney but less than I did.

My old host drove me for two hours to the meeting place with Barbara. He drove two hours to pick me up three hours later. I still can visualize Barbra after thirty years, coming toward me in white shirt, long brown skirt reaching a little below her knees, almost touching her long brown cowboy boots. Her boots must have added several inches to her stature.


Barbara is not tall, but the vision is always of a tall and grand lady. She appeared taller than me but my pride increased correspondingly, being by her side. Her maybe dyed long blond-brown hair was raised over her beautiful head. She was glamor incarnate.  She hugged me and made me feel I was a dear friend, of long time, whom she missed badly.

She spoke with effusion and earnestness. She wanted to know all that is to know, instantly, about how her sister is doing, what about her sister’s boyfriend who was my friend, about their relationship, about Oklahoma her home State, about everything but me.

I was glad that I was not the object of the conversation then, but not so glad now. We walked together so close, and I was walking on air.  I felt that I must look the most glamorous guy, a most glamorous guy in the whole wide world.

I asked permission from my host family to move at Barbara’s for the duration of the program and they agreed. I walked to Beverly Hills the next morning to see her in the fashion store she managed. She received me like a VIP and was happy at my surprised visit. I wanted to be with Barbara every second of my trip to California.

I accepted to attend a conference in Los Angeles a couple of years later, hoping to see Barbara again. It was an important political conference but my heart was not in it. My friends drove me through Beverly Hills where the rich and glamorous live, but I was not impressed. Finally, giving up, they gave me a lift from Anaheim to West Hollywood. I called up Barbara and I invited myself to stay overnight at her apartment.  She had many friends.

She was attached at the moment to a fashionable young man, working in fashion and with fashion, but they had problems. She appeared depressed and disappointed and not in the mood for me. Her TV was on 24 hours.  I slept and woke up with the TV on.

I visited her six years later during my second extended trip to the USA: Barbara’s sister had told me that Barbara was married and living in Oklahoma City. She did not look the same Barbara. She was skinnier. Her skin looked darker, her face emaciated, down to earth, resigned and decked in simple blue jeans and an old black sweater.

Barbara was married to a full-blooded American Indian, she a half-blooded. A soft-spoken husband he was, a polite artist who toured the USA exhibiting his paintings. She stayed at home designing jewelry and managing her man’s business.

I had accepted her invitation for a Thanksgiving lunch. I went down to Oklahoma City for an important and specific purpose of mine: I was determined to tell Barbara my secret. I went down with my steady girl friend at the time:  I still had no car.

Barbara’s eyes had an ironic shine looking at my oriental short friend. She asked my friend all kinds of questions about our relationship, how we met and what are our plans. She said to me: “You know, someone needs news about your friend”. She meant that her sister needed to know the whereabouts of her ex-husband. I had lost track of the whereabouts of my friend too and could not be of much help.

Barbara was entitled to know the truth; that the first time she walked with me she made me feel that I was the most glamorous guy in town. But I did not tell Barbara the truth. I don’t recall that I talked during my two hours stay. Maybe it did not feel right at that moment. But I should have persevered on my initial decision: This truth is hers no matter what.

She could be sixty, but age does not erase the feeling, that to my young eyes, she was the most glamorous woman I set my eyes on. She could live to be a hundred, but age does not change the fact, that Barbara made me once walk on air.


adonis49

adonis49

adonis49

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