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There’s Nothing I can Hold on to

It’s winter and the sky is sunny, Heavens, there’s nothing I can hold on to.

What on earth do I have in common with an inmate on death row?

Above is the tanka, a Japanese verse written by a condemned man before execution. I read it at least two, three years ago and I couldn’t get over it. It has been ringing in my head, “there’s nothing I can hold on to” for quite some time.

What on earth do I have in common with an inmate on death row, really?

I sometimes wake up to a strawberry milkshake (with chocolate chips) my dear husband made for me. I live in a nice apartment and I have a maid. My daughter is healthy and happy -- her looks has a commercial value as well. I walk with three carats of diamonds on any given day…

Hell, I’ve been feeling exactly the same, “Heavens, there’s nothing I can hold on to.”

I couldn’t remember the former half of the tanka, so I just googled it. Curiously, there wan only one hit, which led me to more information. Sometimes, all it takes is only one hit…

Buddhists may call it karma, Christians the original sin? I don’t think that’s what I’ve been feeling, though.

Am I still looking for something to hold on to? Ah! I forgot to mention this: in Japan, all the condemned get a hanging. So, it really presents a huge problem when you have nothing to hold on to…

Come to think of it, who does? Who gets something to hold on to, really? Religion? Possibly… Family? That’s more like it.

I say, “It’s winter and the sky is sunny, Heavens, there’s nothing I can hold on to”.

I also say, “I must do without somebody to hold on to. I should be able to do it. Actually when on earth did I have anybody to hold on to other than my husband and friends, for whom I must fight, and live?”

Waiting for your Dead Husband

After 11 years of marriage, I got tired one day. I started asking opinions (via Internet).

Are you happily married? Two out of three married persons were unhappily married. Well, we may have to consider the alimony factor; maybe I should omit Americans due to huge alimonies.

My husband (he is a Spaniard) has three maternal aunts. They are all in 80’s and well to do. Naturally, they are getting weak and losing memory and all. One of them, Tia Maria is the godmother of my husband. She is a sweet lady with a sweet tooth, she doesn’t have a child. That’s probably why she has kept her childlike personality all her life.

Last summer, she showed me her summer apartment. There were probably 20 framed photos and nobody in the photo was alive. 20 portraits of dead family and friends. I was impressed. Then she showed me the photo of her dead husband, “And this one. This is my late husband.” I said, “What was his name?” and she couldn’t answer. She couldn’t remember his name.

I waited for her answer for two minutes, without breathing. I didn’t want to offend the poor woman. Then finally, she said, “Oh, now I remember, Francisco.” I didn’t know you could possibly forget your husband’s name while your memory is reasonably OK. Now I know it is possible.

The other day, the family of my brother-in-law saw Tia Maria standing in front of the gate to her apartment complex. They assumed she was just strolling (she loves taking a walk), but she wasn’t. After almost one hour, my husband’s nephew, a sassy university student finally asked her, “Auntie, what are you doing here?” She said, “I’m just waiting for my husband. He should be here any minute.”

Our nephew had a good laugh when he told us the story, but I didn’t. I cried instead. Forty years from now, in front of my gate on the Mediterranean coast, who will I be waiting for? One of my boyfriends I may take in the future? Or my once-estranged husband? I’m afraid I will be waiting for the latter.

I am Merchandise

I was wondering why this fan of mine was telling me I shouldn’t write anything gloomy or less than gorgeous. After corresponding with her and my friend in California for a couple of days, I have come to this conclusion:

She was idolizing me! She saw me as a rich, happy wife (=madam in our language) and she hated to see me as anything less than happy or glamorous.

Now that I am a published author, I do have fans but

I am being idolized, I am being consumed, I am being alienated.

This is what getting published and getting fans brings:

They take away your image out of you; they idolize you in any way they want. If you are not living their fantasy, they can complain and even accuse you. I am merchandise! I knew the theory: but now I know it for fact from my own experience.

Well, it’s been less than 2 weeks: I am glad I have realized this at this early stage!