The Study of Scarlett (Chapter 3)

Welcome to My World!

Interesting developments continue to unfold with our subject Scarlett.  We’ve chosen to take the runt to the hospital, don’t freak first and foremost, but there are some conditions, physically; we would like to have checked out.  So it’s into the stroller for our little one, she sleeps as we make our way to a nearby hospital.  It’s the same as the one she was born in.

The day is sunny; at last, the clouds have decided to stop pestering Hong Kong.  My friends and family most likely envy mere overcast as bad weather.  On our way we slice through a park methodically like a knife making a gashing wound in your side.  Err; probably don’t need to make it that colorful.  Anyway I want to take pictures of Scarlett in her first stroller outing, however, we need to be at the hospital by 11:20am.  That’s right we allotted enough time to make it there without any delays but perhaps on the way back.

A couple things to share at my expense: I’ve been given a camera to use to snap lots of pictures of our little squirt from my wife’s dad, I’ve been, umm, lacking to do so lately.  Why a camera, (digital even!), because he likes to make prints, you know its like a flat real life version of you, froze still and stuck on paper.  That way he can see how his granddaughter is changing in these early months when he may be unable to see her.  Its admirable enough and shows that all empowering word – love.  I hoped our walk would prove a wonderful time to pick up my slack.  It’s not that I don’t take pictures or videos but we all use our phones for those things now.  It’s a surprise we don’t use them to wipe our rear ends with yet.  Anyway it’s the quality!  A digital camera does have that on all these devices we pour our minds into nowadays.

My second folly was my wife’s mom, yes I’m picking on my Chinese parents, would be coming back home with us from the hospital and I thought we may taxi it, so I was crushed my photo opportunity may be missed.  It’s these early moments I found I wanted to capture.  Being so young little Scarlett hasn’t been able to get out so I was filled with excitement when we finally would go out.  Right about the taxi and mom – well she has a bum knee so I’d never want to push her to walk more than she was comfortable with.  I may be crazy but I’m not stupid.  I did manage to keep from crying – OK one tear!

            Lets skip ahead.  After we check in our daughter, my wife goes to join her in the examination room to get the rundown on her body.  (What is a rundown?!)  I opt to stay in the waiting area; usually my wife will let me know if I should join, it was a call I made to stay.  I’m not a negligent dad.  Don’t turn me in social media.  ‘We want to get you in trouble!  The hell with what’s right or wrong!  We want to be judge jury and executioner!’  Ranting, your voice on display for good or bad.  Mom arrives shortly after and notices I’m alone, she demands why I’m not with my wife – No!  She would never say anything of the sort.  She joins her daughter though – I continue my waiting.

Grandma & Scarlett

I open an e-book on my I-phone to read A Modern Utopia by H.G. Wells – I recommend it, so you should read it too, of course after finishing my collected works here.  But enough with promoting a book over 100 years old, kids are frolicking all around me.  One mother, a younger woman, is continually chasing around a little boy.  All the while she has a flat pink rectangular piece of plastic smashed against her ear chattering away like a parrot with an oversized vocabulary.  She is half-heartedly doing both.  Sometimes she stops chasing the boy, lowers the pink tablet away from her ear (interrupting her conversation, unbelievable!) enough to say, “Where are you going?” to a two-year-old boy, maybe even younger.  He’s potential thinking; uhh I’m going wherever I want if nobody is going to, you know, look after me with more effort.  Now I’ll stop here – I didn’t call her out for being negligent as I previously stated but you need to get a proper handle on your child.  He gradually began to push his limits, knocking things over, trying to open the glass door to leave the room continually.  No, I confess it doesn’t seem terrible but the waiting room has many people in it, have respect for others and don’t let your kid make you look like a hapless fool.  My counter to any who say, “If you had a two year old boy let’s see what you’d do!”  Well ~ a young lady arrived shortly thereafter and a boy, I’d suppose is her son of near the same age as the other, sat calmly near me watching the other kid run wild.  It’s not a huge deal, it doesn’t affect me but I wanted to include it here anyway.  I’ve deviated from the whole point of writing these case studies of Scarlett.  Let’s rejoin her.

Umbilical Hernia

            My little mixed bag of fun has an umbilical hernia which when I heard made me a bit startled.  She’s had a protruding belly button for a short time now and my wife and I didn’t know what it was.  Search it on the Internet right?  The world’s infinite library of knowledge can never fail you.  The hernia looks like, as my wife noted, “She has a ping-pong ball” sticking out.  It would have to be a ping-pong ball – Chinese!  I had a hernia when I was a wee lad decades ago so I’m thinking surgery for a one month old!?  I was sorely mistaken – it’s actually rather common and will go away in a year or less.  That’s welcoming news to any ignorant parent.  The Internet actually gave more information than the person who checked Scarlett.  It’s some of her intestine that pushed up through the stomach muscle causing the ‘ping-pong ball’ shape to protrude.  There was agreement that it would go away in less than a year.

            The other concern is tiny clumped little bumps on her head.  Like goose bumps at first glance, almost like pimples, which seems odd – I know they grow up fast but this would be ridiculous.  Turns out there is such a condition as baby acne.  It can occur when the baby gets too hot.  It may have something to do with her color change ability but I thought best not to reveal that to the doctor at such a time.  She was given some skin treatment cream so we’ll see how that goes.  She shows no outward signs of pain or discomfort.  The Internet told me babies don’t even feel the acne.  Further inquiries must be made.

            A happy finale to the afternoon’s event saw my wife – her mom and myself walk home while pushing Scarlett along.  At the park, which we returned through, we took some photos to commemorate the day.  Not a national holiday, nor historical date, not even an anniversary of some kind but rather it was a splendid day with my daughter.  The study of Scarlett will continue.

A Modern Utopia – Book Review

Author – H.G. Wells

A review of A Modern Utopia

I admire what H.G. Wells attempted to do with this idea of utopia.  In our modern time such a place, as utopia isn’t in the minds of man, as it would appear to have been back in Wells era.  I’ve never read a book on this topic and didn’t realize what I was getting into.  Having now read one I’m glad my first was Wells take on it.  I’ve read four of his books, this making five, but this one stands in a different light.

            What I thought was creative was the two characters who have traveled to utopia were never actually there.  It was a private discussion on what could make the perfect utopia.  It doesn’t read that way until the end and that’s what makes this book worth looking at.  It’s quite an intellectual read; there are ideas that really intrigued me.  The samurai is a class in society that anyone can join so there is no discrimination against anybody on the planet.  That’s right, this utopia is worldwide, not delegated to one fantastical piece of magic space set aside for a select few who can find it.  This view completely changed what little I knew of utopias in the first place.

            He is trying to purify the world and that creates quite a bit of controversy.  I completely understood those challenges he tried to take on.  What race is the best?  Is there a best?  Do you allow stupid people to breed?  Should there be a cap on the world’s population?  All of these have to do with humanity, which will always be the sensitive side of the building of utopia, but the questions are valid.  The state of the current world is a mess, as most any intelligent person would agree.  People killing people is an effect of the very reason why certain people should be kept from breeding.

The use of money as a tool for power is ridiculous in itself as Wells alludes to.  There wouldn’t be slaves; everybody would work to contribute to utopia.  What he is suggesting is humanity coming together as one organism in a sense to make life easier on each individual.  That works best when everyone gets involved.  Although there would still be different levels of work, the stupid couldn’t possibly keep up with the more thought invoking tasks but there would be put in place plenty of programs to educate everyone.  Thus there can be no excuse to not be given a chance to learn.  It’s all conjecture but it’s fascinating.

What I find tiresome is the manner in which some of the less interesting aspects of utopia are explained.  It requires focus to read through these areas and after reading them there are most likely a couple snippets of information that are worthwhile to log away.  I like Wells style.  I like the daring way he writes.  He doesn’t hold back his ideas and truthfully tells it how it is.  If this book were written in a way that shared those ideas through the characters more, thus creating a story-like atmosphere it would read smoother.  I still enjoyed it but I prefer the other books I’ve read of his so far.

Book Review Master List

              

Chased Forever?

Part I

It begins visually, well of course it does but this dream thrived on it compared to most dreams I have.  The clarity of each moment nearly fooled me that it was a true memory of mine.  Green grass matted down forming a six-foot wide meandering pathway with dense high foliage to either side is the first image.  I was walking this path although not used enough to be considered a trail, for there was no dirt streak as commonly found.  The environment was that of I-80/94, a highway, in which these hilly grassy paths ran along either side.  Although like many dreams it was a distorted version.  The highway was busy with traffic moving to and fro although on the grassy path you’d never know for there was no noise to be heard.  At this point in the dream I only knew I was going somewhere without knowing its ending point.  Now that common occurrence in dreams happens when the scene shifts without notice or explanation.

Part II

            A low ceilinged, small room now becomes the surrounding area.  The lights are dim, in fact half the fluorescent lights don’t even work and one set of them flickers.  The dream is darker now, with a sense of insecurity creeping about.  I look around and realize this is a business of some sort.  There are used DVDs and various video games for sale on a couple racks nearby.  At this point I am aware that I am married with a baby at home and after I’m done in this shady-looking shop I will return on my way home to them.  It was but a split second this information passed into my mind then returned to the dream.  Without knowing how I came to understand I was in a poor part of town, in my hometown actually, although the area I was in wasn’t slum at the time but the dream doesn’t paint it that way.

Two grey-headed men ran this shop.  I turned to see one of them amble off into a back room then I shifted my attention back to the racks of merchandise.  Indiana Jones, with Harrison Fords mug occupying the entire cover caught my eye.  It was an image from Raiders of the Lost Ark I’m sure of.  I also saw Wii cases but no memorable titles.  At that juncture I was suddenly at a low counter in the same shop facing one of the unrecognizable grey-headed men.  The dream had propelled me further but not quite enough to change scenes.  He twiddled a five-dollar bill (USD) in his fingers, gave a sneer, and then handed me one-dollar bill in return.  I knew that couldn’t be right although said nothing, the dream seemed to know (it was fixing it, I trusted the dream), the other grey headed man counseled with the other upon agreeing to warrant me one more dollar bill which seemed to end any further debate.

Which item I had supposedly bought I did not know, nor does it have any further implication in this dream.  Before leaving, and not entirely sure when this thought popped into my mind, I had a feeling getting robbed could be a very real possibility in an area such as this.  However it didn’t seem as big a concern as it should have been.  I continued on my way worry free.

            I stepped outside and turned right which would have been the correct direction to return home even in this mock hometown of mine.  Upon glancing around I’m at the corner of roughly White Oak & 173^rd.  The building I left doesn’t exist.  Instead houses make up the space but not here.   I see a man, a broken mangled chain linked fence behind him with weeds sprung up here and there to help create this now unsafe atmosphere.  He wore a tan beanie, had a black goatee, stood short and did not appear friendly which happened to make the scene suddenly frightening.  He pulled out a wooden handle pistol from his right pocket holding it straight at me.  I thought immediately, “It figures I’d get robbed after thinking about it.”

He demanded my belongings, I obliged by sliding my left hand into my front left pocket, where I never would keep my wallet but here it was along with a tablet cell phone.  The wallet was brown and leather, a gift from my mother a very long time ago, I still use it today.  The tablet-like phone, I don’t know where that came from.  I knew it wasn’t my phone but the dream told me it was so I accepted it readily.  The slick surface of the phone face rubbed against the wallet, making it difficult to take only the wallet out.  I was intent on not revealing the phone I know not why at that point.  The goatee man hurried me with a spray of quick shouts.  Eventually I pulled the wallet out alone and handed it to him.  My hands were up.  I pleaded with my eyes, to scared to chance a word.  There were only some fifteen dollars in the wallet, which now dawn on me why I gave it over instead of the phone as well.  I chanced giving over as little as I afford to lose.  The phone vanishes from thought now and never returns to the dream.

The man slowly lowered his gun exasperated, disappointed at the amount no doubt. He then looked different, he no longer appeared unfriendly or mean but rather guilty as if he didn’t really want to be robbing anymore, as if he was pressured into it and wanted no part in it anymore.  No words were uttered.  The man turned and ran away from me, beyond the miserable chain linked fence, across a diagonal set of railroad tracks.  To go away from the dream for a moment this man’s behavior resembles Draco Malfoy.  Inwardly he is struggling which life he wants, one of good or bad nature.  This could be due to watching the Harry Potter string of movies over the past month.  It seems reasonable enough a connection.

Why I half followed after him I don’t know, I stood upon the tracks, which were elevated as on a hill looking down as the man ran into an old warehouse a few hundred yards away.  These railroad tracks replace a bike path in reality.  A black man looked at me then at the other man, he stood about halfway to each of us in the middle.  He shouted something to the other along the lines of “he saw you.”  It was meant that I had seen too much, of what I do not know, because now the dream told me it was time to go.  I made my way down the railroad tracks knowing I would be followed.  The scene blinks now and I am now in an entirely different area.

Part III

            Its night now and I’m in an unknown backyard.  I deduce I’m still in the poor unsafe neighborhood.  The same sense of insecurity from the last part remains.  I bump into someone at this stage and he appears Latino.  He reminds me of someone I knew long ago, from high school although I can’t confirm it.  It’s impossible to make out who it is.  Its as if he is blurred from head to toe, only being able to make out a couple features.  He knows I’m being chased, again no idea how, and we quickly form a plan to thwart my pursuer.

My mystery friend takes cover near the house off to our left.  Not long after the man from the last segment with the gun has found me.  I’m too far away from the house for a successful ambush so I plead at the man who edges closer to me with gun aimed, I back away slowly until my friend is able to spring upon him unawares.  We wrestle with him and loose his gun away.  We have him down and defeated but we make to run as the dream tells me that there are others still pursuing me.  Its possible the fear and panic also told me to flee, either way this scene ends.

Part IV

            My surroundings take quite a turn now.  I’m in a vacation type of city environment, a combo of Florida and Branson, Missouri.  I’m now entering a building and at last feel safe.  The atmosphere is booming, many people around, the sun shines through the windows, giving me a sense of protection against the people of the night.  The shear relief at being somewhere secure is amazing.  I turn a corner to enter a room from a hallway and see another familiar face from my past, Mike Zubrick, he looked as he did the last I saw him some five years ago or so, grey haired, in good shape for a man nearing seventy.  I worked with him in my late teens and early twenties at a pizza place, my first job.  He was a genius at math and sort of a mentor to me on the job – I’ve always respected him.

I grabbed him desperately by the shoulders, shaking him back and forth shouting his name a few times.  It was then I realized how torn and tattered my cloths were I was dirty.  How long have I been on the run?  What has happened since the last scene of this dream?  Finally my old friend recognizes me and I learn he works at the job I have most recently quit which happens to be another pizza place.  I worked there from mid-twenties to early thirties.  His cloths are inside out but I see the logo that represents the corporation he works for on his sleeve.  Like mine his cloths are ripped and holey as well, although I ignore that.  As I’m talking with him about who knows what, dialogue is sparse in this dream.  People talk but the words aren’t recognizable.  Mike shifts into another old man I worked with.  One moment I see him clear as day, I turn my head casually away from him for a second and when I turn back he is replaced with…

Art, a man who had similar qualities and features as Mike, he worked with me more recently at the second pizza place and being sixty years of age.  Aside general appearance, a knack for math and being a mentor figure at work they are usually who I think of first when I think of my two jobs I worked at in my youth.  It only made sense in the dream I viewed them as the same person.  Nearing the end of this scene, in the hallway I arrived from, the man with the gun lumbered down the way.  He was trashed. He had a bruised eye, swollen cheek, and was just in a worn beat up state.  He passed by not showing anything on his face except a blank expression void of any thought.  He hunched as he walked, never saying a word, just shuffling along.   Could I have been the one who pummeled him so?  The thought grieved me.  Then I walk outside as the scene shifts ever so slightly.  It remains the same part however.

            Looking down the street, the bustling is gone, people are scarce, and the sunlight is blocked by overcast.  The buildings look rundown, abandoned and unsafe.  I’m back in the wrong neighborhood, I walk down to the corner, and I see some shady characters.  I glance overhead to see a sign it reads ‘Cinema’.  It’s broken and a wreck – its been closed for years.  I have a queasy feeling, like a twilight zone moment where I’m destined to not make my way home.  I decide to go back inside.  When I get to the door, its glass, I can see through it.  It’s not the same place inside either, no surprise.  I open the door and step in, I feel uncomfortable at once.

I walk forward to see a man sitting at a table facing me.  As I near him I discover I know him, Its Wyatt Titus jr.  Instant relief flows through me.  It is astonishing what one small familiar piece of what you know can calm your nerves in an otherwise alien place.  I take a seat and we talk.  He informs me he knows a way to get me home, us home.  He talks as if we’re trapped, trying to escape where we are.  I pay no mind I just want to leave.  As the conversation goes on it becomes apparent Wyatt isn’t being truthful, it becomes clear he plans to turn me over to my pursuers, the shock stifles me, I didn’t want to believe it.  The dream ends.

This dream occurred on February 17, 2015 and to this day has stayed fresh and crisp in my mind.  What is it that makes certain dreams memorable?  I don’t know if this dream has any substance to it but the urge to pull it from my mind and present it here had to be done.

Dreams Master List

The Study of Scarlett (Chapter 2)

In late February/early March in the year 2015 it has come to my attention that after an unprecedented event occurred my daughter has shown a very curious ability.  How this happened suggests unknown phenomena are partly responsible.  It’s an unsolved mystery with no revealing evidence.  I’ll bring to light all I know of this most interesting tale and perhaps someone out there may be able to connect the dots.

            Said event took place after what can be considered a most exciting late afternoon activity for my wife & I – sleeping.  Anytime you find the chance for an hour nap you seize it tightly with two closed fists.  With a little one at home what was once a mere relaxing close of the eyes becomes something much more savored, a trip to dreamland where you haven’t been for what seems ages.  My wife & I awoke she headed to the kitchen while I carefully plodded to the bathroom to relieve myself.  Its dusk now, and I don’t have my eyeglasses on when my wife calls my attention as I enter the bathroom.  Naturally I was quite looking forward to adding a bit more fluid to the toilet bowl, isn’t it always like that?  It’s a bodily relief nobody tires of.  Let’s not sidetrack, I step out of the bathroom as my wife says, “What’s that?” pointing at the floor.  I lazily peer down but my eyes are useless at such a distance for so small a thing.  It’s a blur, I mumble I can’t see it then use the toilet.

Floor Tile

            What is discovered when I have my framed eyes in position and a light illuminating is a shock to me.  My wife is getting frantic.  She says she thought it was fuzz but upon closer examination my eyes take in what my mind wishes to refuse – a tiny lizard!  Yes!  On the tiled floor is a lizard completely frozen, possibly due to the sudden change in environment.  The intriguing aspect is it has camouflaged to the floor color, which fascinated me into awed staring.  I’m familiar that reptiles can undergo such a transformation but to see it in the flesh, in an apartment is a new experience for me.  It’s possible my sleep daze is still affecting my brain.  My wife on the other hand has come to a swift conclusion – kill it.  Naturally we have a baby in the next room, its instinct to protect her from what she cannot defend.  But to destroy so small a creature for this sake, I pause thinking it over but at last agree trying to catch it could prove more hassle than just smashing it.  If it were to take refuge somewhere hidden away it could strike when we least expect.  Also the thought of the tiny reptile nibbling on my daughters lip was disturbing.  If any have read Jurassic Park you’d see my point, not the dinosaur angle but small lizards in Costa Rica that creep into nurseries biting infants in their cribs.  You see there is a toxin in the saliva of these lizards that will cause the infected area to swell…  It would be best if you read the book.

            I’ll spare the detail of our hairless little friend’s demise other than it was quick & painless.  It did however spasm and flip about which made my wife jump in astonishment, don’t worry it was dead already.  What has happened in the days since has been… strange.  Scarlett has shown a clear visible alteration of her skin pigmentation but it changes depending on circumstances, mostly it’s her normal tone.  It doesn’t happen as often as the little reptile may be able to do with its skin but certain situations will encourage it.

            The primary method, of her skin color change, is an unusual combination of high-pitched noise emitting from her mouth while her arms and legs are actively moving.  The affected area is limited to her face for the time being.  Trigger signs that she is undergoing a color change include whimpers or cries that are quiet but steadily gain volume.  During this time her pigmentation changes to red and as the noise increases and her mouth opens wider it can alter to maroon while giving her lips a shade of purple.  It seems a different technique than our small lizard may perform but the results are stirring.  Whereas the reptile could change color in absolute silence it required Scarlett banshee-like wails from her mouth to accomplish the change.  The question remains is how far will this go?

            As of this time we’re positive no physical contact was made with the lizard and Scarlett so how did this ability to color change come about?  Will she gain other attributes of the lizard?  Did the death of the reptile release an unknown spore that attached to her body?  We’ll continue to monitor her and update her condition but as of now it would seem it may be a temporary state of… possible infection.

            Later observation of facial color change occurred when she would clench her tiny hands and grunt in succession.  That would cause a rumble sort of noise from her mid section culminating in a squishy sound just south of her stomach.  Afterwards her color returned to normal and she seemed in delightful spirits often sporting a smile.  However a foul odor always followed this and it was later found some sort of yellowish material had excreted from her rectal area.  It’s possible the ability to color change produces some sort of waste that must be discharged.  Further analysis of the biohazard may determine source of color change.

That is the story and details as remembered.  She will continue to be monitored, documented and poked to ensure proper research is being done of her.  This is a most interesting case study of Scarlett.

Scarlett

Respect Epic

It is a preposterous notion to defile someone or anything for that matter without due cause.  To do so means an utter lack of honor for the target.  We know to defile a family member is quite inappropriate and the mere thought disgusts the majority but how about an object?  Certainly to defile property would be against anybody’s better judgment so no need to consider that either.  What if we go beyond the physical realm?  No, not spiritually or religiously but the world that lives among us and is a part of our everyday life, language.  Would it be proper to defile say, a word?  This does not have an immediate yes or no trigger in response does it?  You pause to think, can a word be subjected to being defiled?  Is there reason to be considerate of a word?  Does it have feelings?  Is it somebody’s property?  We’ll get into it to find out.

            A word that has been figuratively raped by the populace today to destroy what was once and in my eyes still can be, not just another word.  This word is epic.  Some words are best used seldom to maximize its definition meaning when used properly.  It’s not reasonable to throw around a word like epic in daily communication nor does it make sense.  ‘How was your breakfast son?’  ‘It was epic!’  How so?  Did you have to raise the pig for the bacon?  Collect the eggs from a chicken coop?  Forge your eating utensils in due preparation for the meal yet to come?  I fear not to lose you yet so let’s keep these questions in reserve for now. Let’s rediscover what epic truly means.

Epic is grand in stature, spanning over many events a great many things.  A poem can be epic when written in length describing a hero’s journey, see Homer’s Iliad.  It need not be poetry as many novels have vast storylines of characters embarking on fantastical feats that culminate into an incredible climax thus encouraging the use of epic to sum up such massive storytelling into one compelling word!  Not just breakfast.  When I heard the word epic in my younger years I instantly thought of films such as: Stars Wars or Indiana Jones since they cover much material over the course of many years.  Ask yourself if epic fits to these movies or to any other film or book series.  A word can only be credible if you treat it with respect.  It serves only to degrade oneself mentally when attaching a trendy word to your vocabulary for the sake of fitting in with society.

            Why is epic being diminished?  Overuse of a word leads it down a path it doesn’t want to go.  How tiresome is it to speak with an individual who reuses the same two or three curse words over and over from sentence to sentence? Epic doesn’t want to become that, it’s a slap in the face to be categorized with mere swear words.  Today it’s broadly used to describe a singular event that may or may not have any grand aspect to it at all.  You’ve seen the epic fail posts no doubt, but are those accurate?  Perhaps it’s a runner face down on the ground feet from the finish line with ‘epic fail’ stamped across the image.  Is this an epic fail though?  It can’t be summed up so simply without knowing the story that leads to the runner face down.  That’s why Darth Vader tossing the emperor over the side leading to his demise isn’t an epic fail in itself.  It’s rather the events leading to it that create the emperor’s entire plot from episode one to six as being a failure of epic proportions.  To sum it up in that single instance, and leave out the rest of that world isn’t justifiable.  Star Wars is epic, one scene is not.  It would be as stating that a man shot and killed with a gun is – epic death.  You need an entire series of occurrences to support the time of death for it to attain epic status.  It’s not due to any one isolated event.  Using epic this way is demeaning to its inherent being.  Being epic is not as commonplace as the trend today suggests.

            To leave epic on the shelf and use it scarcely is its function.  If the overuse continues, its probable there are those who will want to remove it from their vocabulary altogether for want of not coming across as an idiot.  Let’s prevent epic from going the way of a hit single record.  Put some respect into what you say and you may learn to appreciate what a word really is.

            No this article is not epic.

The Ghost on the Bus

HK Livin’

Overcast looms for a third straight day accompanied by a drizzle of rain.  The humidity is enough to make you feel like you’re on a hike, huffing in mouthfuls of air.  People stand in their customary places single file lurching forward with blank expressions, doing so in routine not even taking in their surroundings anymore.  Occasionally someone will glance behind them down the ever-busy street, hoping with the slightest chance they’ll see their deliverer yet again.  There are those who have shoved their face into glowing rectangular stones but that same blank expression still occupies their face.  It’s yet another day awaiting street side in Hong Kong for a bus to take them on their way.

        Ghosts exist, they move as freely as the dominant people of Hong Kong although but a fraction in number.  It’s quite possible to go days without ever seeing one in person.  They’re not as portrayed in those vial horror films or even a grotesque scary story, no they go about their existence much the same as anyone else.  Having said this it’s not uncommon to see them sitting alone on a bus, with but one empty seat remaining and yet no taker.  That is the solitude a ghost in Hong Kong faces on a daily basis, the struggle to blend in is never ending and most likely not plausible.  The locals call these ghosts, who have not always been a part of life in Hong Kong but have been accepted despite past digressions, gweilo.  It can mean a few different words in the English language but in this passage ghost will serve.

        There is a ghost that frequents a particular bus stop in Choi Hung but the fact is, even being a familiar figure to those around him remains spooky enough to not share a two-space seat.  Chances are the four single seats get occupied first upon people cramming into the sardine can on wheels, unless the ghost is one of the first four to six passengers squeezing in he’ll be delegated elsewhere.  Many times has he watched the ensuing people step into view on the narrow aisle way only to avoid the space open to his left.  There have been bus rides where he gains the entire seat to himself even with others waiting in line outside.  He doesn’t complain of extra space but the wonder of why someone would rather wait for the next bus is puzzling.  It’s not that he is saddened by lack of want to have someone so readily sit next to him but rather curious as to why it is the way it is.  The fear does not show on the faces or actions of the people but is there something hidden within them that cowers at his mere presence.  Perhaps there is a dreadful feeling that death comes to those who spend too much time in close quarters with a gweilo.  

        In the reverse spectrum, that is to say when he is filing in last onto the bus that he must choose where to sit, he often notices the despair on the faces of those who have an open space next to them.  The way they tightly grasp the safety handle on the sit directly in front of them, the fidgety way they play with a purse strap or pull out their seeing stone tablet and quickly slide a finger this way and that.  It’s also been seen that one will turn away to look out the window at the falling rain, passing traffic or nothing in particular at all but just to not look into the ghost’s eyes by miss glance.  When he does sit its common that the person will try to force their way over although plenty of room remains between them.  Does the spectral force of the ghost do things he knows not to the living?  It’s an interesting study to be sure.

        A few occurrences that warrant a couple words are the chance cases when the final two seats together house ghosts.  As the ghost steps into the bus and sees the other ghost there is no hesitation, true it’s the only place to sit but fellow ghosts seem to have similar acceptance of one another as the other people do to one another.  The other is in regard to how well a ghost can see or possibly its overall awareness when compared to local populace.  A ghost frantically hop’s into the bus dings a card that transfers money to the preservation of octopi* everywhere, and quickly steps halfway down the aisle, spins and discovers there are no remaining seats.  Flabbergasted the ghost disappears out the door ignoring the chatter from the driver.  It is either lack of vision caused by the paleness of their body or an act of charity, donating 3.4 HKD for a ride not to be taken, as before it is a study worth undertaking.

        In conclusion, as a ghost among you, rattle the cage and make the choice to look for a gweilo to share a two-seater with.  It’s true their hair isn’t as consistent a color as everyone else.  They’re often too tall which causes unnecessary ‘mind your head’ signs to be posted and they’ll never be in the same class of ping-pong as the locals but they’re mostly harmless.

*Octopus card is a multipurpose card used to speed up transactions of several purposes throughout Hong Kong, including the bus as read here

The Study of Scarlett (Chapter 1)

HK Livin'

It didn’t dawn on me until the day was underfoot but March the second had a bit of extra meaning to it, in more ways than one.  Ah, but what am I getting at?  The day in question was the same calendar day eight years ago that I first made contact with… my future wife.  I don’t know why such a detail stuck in my Swiss cheese memory but it did and it’s become a pleasant miniscule personal holiday for us.  We don’t celebrate, shoot off fireworks, get too drunk to walk, have a luxurious dinner or even do more than acknowledge with kind words how long its been but I suppose it’s one of life’s little bonuses for us now.  Now I’m not deterring from my main point but rather setting it up.

        This day has another significant attachment to it, although it may only have special attention this year.  It’s my daughter, Scarlett’s, first month of life to the day.  (Holding for applause)  Up until now she has been newborn in behavior, as any parent would know so I’ll not bother with such tedious detail.  She did have her first doctor visit which was quite a neat experience so that I’d like to make my case study for Scarlett.

        The appointment time was 8:45am which at any time in my post high school and pre-baby era of existence would be asking more than I could ever give, proved moot now.  Awake by seven and waiting to leave was more like it.  I was slowly moving about but nonetheless on my feet.  The journey out wasn’t to be a fantasy epic in getting there although meeting a talking tree trunk would have added quite the spunk or funk to my rather bland story.  My wife and I hoofed it there in no time through the streets of Hong Kong, that’s right for those who don’t yet know.  Scarlett fussed a bit until we arrived outside and a brand new world, outside of the apartment she’s been forcefully held captive in thus far, appeared before her eyes.  Wide binocular vision and, a hushed silence overtook her.

        We arrived first which couldn’t have been better, when I saw how many seats were available it could have been quite a timely stay.  We don’t see the doctor until 9:15, so much for being punctual.  The wait area gains a few fresh rears in some chairs but mostly vacant, spacious even.  Now we know there’s plenty of open seats and I’d chance at a most obvious guess that people would naturally space themselves throughout the room before cluttering up, no, NO, not in Hong Kong my friends.  Another couple, the first to arrive after us in fact, decides to sit directly at our backs, as the seats have a musical chair formation to them, back to back.  I’m still trying to gain full awareness and the dude behind us uses me as a backrest of sorts.  I’m tall already and this Chinese guy happened to be as well, the seats had low backs, come on man.  Sit up straight and conform to your spatial surroundings!  I look around.  Empty seats everywhere why sit at my back?  Possibly I’m playing this too much but it seemed socially a bad move, I believe Jerry Seinfeld and his crew would dub this couple, “close sitters” or something of the like.

        At last we take our little squirt in to get weighed.  I had a sweet feeling she was on pace with her size, hey I don’t want an enormous monster baby on my hands.  She scaled in at ten pounds, well a shade over ten but otherwise just a scratch above average.  Of course the doctor said that was actually better so there it is.  A bit further on, after bouncing around from room to room she needs a diaper change.  No, slow your roll, no nightmarish poop turd-flinging scene takes place although along with a talking tree trunk I’d be onto a swell kids story eh?  One day little Danny was walking to school when a talking tree trunk flung a giant turd at him!  We head into a room with a few other babes and parents, etc. Scarlett fusses a bit a first, probably wondering why she’s being exposed in public, when she hears the other babies cry she abruptly quits.  It’s amazing she doesn’t want to be another mere face in the crowd.  To skip ahead but for a moment my wife asked me just before we leave what I did with the dirty diaper from earlier.  Well I tossed it in the trash, no headline story here.  I told her I stuffed it into a nearby closet, she only looked at me with those eyes which spoke all, that I was as full of what the diaper was – love it.

        Let’s jump to the vaccination, the first shot I see Scarlett get.  OK so I was interested to see how tough she was.  We enter into a small damp room with flickering lights, a broken window with a spider web as patchwork and a constant drip, drip, drip from somewhere we can hear but not see.  That’s creepy isn’t it?  Too bad none of it is real – would go well with a talking tree trunk and diaper bomb of poop.  My wife holds her down properly then the needle gets the classic syringe squeeze by the harbinger of pain, eh nurse, to show the drop of fluid peak at the needlepoint.  This woman actually sneers then laughs at us then shifts her eyes to Scarlett, no she doesn’t.  Waiting, watching, not a peep from baby… the needle withdraws, Scarlett turns red, and her face contorts, the wail of horror shatters my eyeglasses.  Bandaged up quick we turn to the exit and no more enter the hall, the screaming stops.  So I’d say I’m pleased with her response.  Took the hit, cried but recovered in no time.  We walk down the hall, going by the people who are next in this assembly line of torture to the seating area, which again is rather empty…

        No more than we sit and sigh, maybe even fart, then a couple plops down right next to us.  Twice now, what do you do in this case?  My wife gets up first and we move elsewhere undisturbed for the remainder of our time there.  A lesson I learned, Chinese people have a different social structure when it comes to area seating arrangements or I’m totally trying to make a big deal out of it just so you’ll keep reading.  Either way it was an interesting enough couple of hours and hopefully you made it through to the end of this silly but mostly true study of Scarlett.