Now I stared at this sudden apparition with my eyes fairly starting out of my head in astonishment. Remember, I had crashed in the desert a thousand miles from any inhabited region. And yet my little man seemed neither to be straying uncertainly among the sands, nor to be fainting from fatigue or hunger or thirst or fear. Nothing about him gave any suggestion of a child lost in the middle of the desert, a thousand miles from any human habitation. When at last I was able to speak, I said to him:
“But–what are you doing here?”
And in answer he repeated, very slowly, as if he were speaking of a matter of great consequence:
“If you please–draw me a sheep . . .”
When a mystery is too overpowering, one dare not disobey. Absurd as it might seem to me, a thousand miles from any human habitation and in danger of death, I took out of my pocket a sheet of paper and my fountain-pen. But then I remembered how my studies had been concentrated on geography, history, arithmetic and grammar, and I told the little chap (a little crossly, too) that I did not know how to draw. He answered me:
About 3 hours ago (as I start writing this piece it’s 12:27 AM), my mum and I were invited to my uncle’s wedding anniversary. There were lots of food, my cousins were there, my cousins’ children were there, and my anxiety was there too. I barely spoke a word—bouts of anthropophobia kicks in during social gatherings of like nature—and the relatability of my thoughts appear not so much in conjunction with the moment I was in so, as expected, my ruminations became more intense as I sat there staring at the TV. Sure it was prime time, which means series upon series of soap operas grace program spots thus it became my utmost resolve to remain glued to the idiot box while each individual would be dallying with their affairs (not that I actually like soaps, especially local ones with all the slapping and shrieking supposedly for cinematic effect… which I don’t agree to as much; look at my penchant for movies such as the current nomination for the Academy Awards “Spotlight” that entails more of normal conversations as each scene’s focal point).
But I did eat and the food was gastronomic heaven.
It made my day in some odd manner because food serves as a catalyst for self-reimbursement (if there would be such a term, since vocabulary sometimes can be tedious for someone who had severe epileptic seizures in the past). It was at that juncture where I figured my moment of redemption imminent, so I ate a sampling of most of the servings, erstwhile skipping carbonara because I had never endeared myself to anything with white sauces or les blanches garniture**. Admittedly so, the arroz valenciana was a blast that I had to eat additional spoonfuls of it along with a slice of chilled mango graham cake. I’m a food freak.
Still, there were other sorts delectable delicacies: for all you know, hot coffee along with ice cream—for exotic palates, no doubt—was served and everything was inviting; however I decided to take a step back and rethink my yet another round for the table. The Weight Armageddon shall definitely take place if I do and that would be catastrophe personified.
It was 10 PM when the little party came to a close; and while all my cousins were getting ready to pack up and go, mum and I decided to exeunt. We were benevolently handed a package of take-home goodies from the reception which I figured my other family members would enjoy. Oh yes, they did because the cake and carbonara were present, not to mention the shanghai spring rolls—all four of them left because people were picking things up here and there at the party. So no take-home arroz valenciana for me either.
When I got home, I thought my gastric juices needed help so I sought my ever-reliable panacaea for everything that needs tummy first aid: green tea. This time I had something with jasmine so I eagerly boiled water and finally let my tea steep according to instructions (I am a stickler for instructions when it comes to tea). Two cups felt like sunshine within my intestines, thus alleviating my oft-belligerent paranoia for anything that sends my tummy to occasional sequences of gastro-flagellations.
Either way, I think I had a pretty good time notwithstanding my flair for silence and the tragedies of overeating. Food has some trickling of magic after all.
** Pardon my French as I was supposed to say “white glazes: I just like how it sounds, supposedly, and was applying my finite knowledge of Latin; but I’d like corrections so feel free.
Stuttter, BuddyPress and BbPress’ developer John Jacoby has some eloquent things to say regarding how difficult he is to work with:
from http://jaco.by/2015/08/21/im-difficult-to-work-with/
If only this writer (yours truly) knew how to elaborate that much, namely with all existing vocabulary that may be extracted with such ease from my brain’s quarters, then I would be a happy blogger.
As I write this, I’m on the verge of logging off because I have to keep up with my sleep. Unfortunately, though, my head keeps ramming itself with a barrage of ideas that prevent me from dozing off. Yes, I do have a hyperactive brain, no thanks to my occasional mania and—believe it or not—epilepsy (I have temporal lobe epilepsy which, in its queerest form, initialises bipolar disorder-like symptoms). So, it’s like, I get to have “conversations” in my head every now and then: sometimes to the point of irritation.
Oh well, it seems I just have to keep up with this. Off to sleep with you, you nocturnal philistine…
(I was talking to myself there.)
****
Oh by the way, I have this new little widget on the right sidebar which indicates what I’m currently reading. Right now it’s Frank Kermode’s “Concerning E.M. Forster” which I’ve been enslaving myself for days. (Uh, wait till I get my hands on “The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire”… as if I would, eventually. It’s almost impossible in this country to have a copy of that.)
For those who are familiar with the now-defunct (but very memorable) series “Gilmore Girls”—of which I am much of a devoted fan—Kirk might be one of those out-of-this-world characters Stars Hollow has to offer. As much whimsicality he personifies, he blends equally well with all the quirks of the town starting from Taylor the town selectman, Miss Patty the dance instructor, Lorelai’s best friend Sookie, Luke the diner proprietor, Rory’s best friend Lane, main characters Lorelai and Rory Gilmore themselves among tonnes more, plus a troubadour who makes his appearance in some acts to give a more Greek chorus-like narration of a character’s feels in a certain episode. That said, Kirk is almost all of them combined as his very persona lifts itself from surrealism as its finest, what of his mostly-botched attempts to be the all-around guy at the same time struggling with his very own presence as Kirk the town “weirdo” . It is this scenario that makes Kirk a classic Charlie Chaplin, the hero of whimsicality despite his seemingly unobtrusive (or more correctly, harmless) nature, bereft of any contrived hilarity.
Thus, what goes around Kirk comes around Kirk. This becomes more apparent in Gilmore Girls’ Season Two when Kirk devises his own movie-making scheme as a sort of filler before the town’s movie night of the year commences. Of course, the whole town manages to watch it; and as is usual, being immune to much of Kirk’s being Kirk, the populace willingly accepts his oddity (which at some point, to any Stars Hollow outsider like Rory’s father Christopher, may be somewhat worthy of derision). Aptly titled “A Film by Kirk”—apparently Kirk has no other title in mind to name his masterpiece—the sequence starts with Kirk accompanying his date, a plain girl who confesses to being her father’s favourite daughter. Kirk is pleased, and the rest is history. The question as to whether the town actually liked the film seems of no matter at all for, as is customary, Kirk is Kirk and shall always be.
As I previewed the said film for the first time (as shown within that aforementioned Season Two episode) and yet again when I dared browse through the series’ extra clips, I could not keep myself from wondering how the heck Kirk was brought up. Aside from some snippets of information from the series as an oddball who is a certified mama’s boy and has never dated until seasons 4 and 5 (if I am not mistaken), there are no other backstories concerning his rather bizarre behaviour. This mystery furthermore fuels my amazement as well as curiosity on how Kirk can be “prolific” at times, what with his myriad of jobs that Taylor supposedly lets him do for the town. Nevertheless, it is this very enigma juxtaposed with how the common man defines “weird” that makes Kirk especially endearing, funny too.
Without further ado, here is the most of Kirk’s braggadocio. Enjoy.
(N.B: Another equally fascinating write-up about Kirk the character can be found here. And oh, laughing out loud is an understated reaction to his Kirkness in this short film. In fact, I could not get it out of my head, which I attribute mainly to the song that Kirk dances to.)
