Living Power

Dear Eugene,

This past weekend has been a bit of a record, I guess.  I walked a lot.  So much it actually hurt last night.

Sometimes I am afraid if I stop walking I may never walk again.  The only way to not die is to keep living.  I think the movie "Forrest Gump" is nonsense but I understand the running part (which, of course, is another way to say maybe I have not been fair to the movie).

My next-door neighbor told me earlier this year that to keep herself moving she used to be able to trudge up two blocks and back but now could manage only one, and that she relies on the stop-sign post at the end of our block to recuperate for her return trip, a carrot-on-the-stick not for mere pleasure but for survival.

"If I fall, that's it."

I thought she exaggerated, even though I saw her leaning on the post many times.

Then last week I saw another old man from around the corner doing the same to the post, trying to squeeze power out of it.

That's when I knew I will walk a lot.

One must be taking many things for granted to live thoughtlessly.  "You fool! This very night your life will be demanded from you."

There's a Cantonese expression that one-ups the obscenity of the English expression "grabbing-a-bite" by calling the action "curing-the-stomach," as if hunger is a dis-ease that must be cured, a mistake that must be rectified, with an effective and efficient solution, preferably made readily available by a predictable and thus reliable mechanism, may it be hitting the quickly route to acquire a tried-proven-and-true menu item from a frequented eatery or joining the hotdog line-up at Costco.

Just stuff it in, and the feeling will be gone soon enough, normalcy restored and we can go back to where we left off .  There's no surprise in the whole chain of actions.  The hotdog may not be as warm as I want it and the line-up may be longer than it should because someone stole a parking spot that's legitimately mine, but we've come to tolerate and learn our composure.  To not complain about anyone is the best we can muster to say we are somewhat thankful despite all.

As crowded as the place is, we usually can manage the delicate decency to not touch any cloak.

Yours, Alex