She tells me too bad that it is cloudy today, and i ask her how does she know it? she tells me she has looked out the window .." oh, windows yeah that..." i reply
I occasionally look out the windows when i am in between rounds, or lost in this intertwined maze of a hospital looking desperately for some poetry. I see my father walking in front of me feeling suffocated without any luck in finding poetry. It took me all these years to feel his pain, his love and hate for at the same time for his job. " I have everything that a man desires in this world and yet I am not happy, I don't know what it is that I want out of life. " He once told me when I was in my late teens and up until now I was not able to forgive him for saying that very sentence ...
"A" tells me we better get the hell out and go sit somewhere quiet so we can hear each other and I can exactly see what his job is all about. He finds couple of empty terminals and we sit in front of them and there we go , he starts quizzing me. It is the nature of the job you have to be suspicious of anything and anyone even the tiniest bacterias in the world. The guy next door has been moaning in pain non-stop since morning and everybody seems unaffected by it. "A" tells me that I can go and consult him if I am really curious, and laughs " I was only joking." That's his only flaw; he is too soft, too sweet , and too caring. I don't tell him that we all like working with "J," a bit more . "J" always has some surprise up his sleeve; at first he teases you, lets you down and makes you to fend for yourself. He makes you learn on your own , but watches you every step of the way. Maybe it is because "J," is old enough to be our father or maybe its that "J," is a big tease by nature . Unlike "A" he is not much into calculating the whole situation and factoring in people's feeling, he just likes to play the game. "J's" playful nature makes him a better teacher, maybe because it makes him more real than "A," or maybe it is just the Age..
The man in pain is still moaning, and everybody is doing their job. Me and "A" digress from learning into our lives, and talk for an hour . I like talking to him, he is not sarcastic and I do not have to be sarcastic when I am around him. He is a quiet guy by nature, and I have never been much of a talker either, and surprisingly there are no awkward moments of silence, but plenty of moments of mutual silence. Despite being quiet and calculative he has these little moments when all of a sudden he bursts into laughter and fesses up like : " That is why it is called a JOB, so you can hate it."And then goes back to teaching me more about his JOB, which will one day be my job. Or " The reason I went to school out of state was that my application for USC got delayed, well I got rejected." And then creatively ditches me so I can get out earlier and He can go online and surf the net continuing his furniture shopping.
I leave him and the man moaning in pain behind following my father who is still in desperate search of poetry in the hallways of hospitals and look out the windows.
I know that I have a choice to make here: I either have to become like "A," and live a rather normal life sans poetry , or get the hell out of hospitals and live with my current job which is practically a Shakespeare festival days in and out, or as my friend "S," told me the other day :" Learn to write your own poems anywhere in the world that you are....." All I know is that I did not turn out to be as much of a daydreamer that my father used to be. If I am good at anything it is at being able to untangle myself when i am stuck. I look out the window and know that i will never let this maze of intertwind hallways get into me , because the moment that you have let the poetry out of your life is the moment that you are dead....
I occasionally look out the windows when i am in between rounds, or lost in this intertwined maze of a hospital looking desperately for some poetry. I see my father walking in front of me feeling suffocated without any luck in finding poetry. It took me all these years to feel his pain, his love and hate for at the same time for his job. " I have everything that a man desires in this world and yet I am not happy, I don't know what it is that I want out of life. " He once told me when I was in my late teens and up until now I was not able to forgive him for saying that very sentence ...
"A" tells me we better get the hell out and go sit somewhere quiet so we can hear each other and I can exactly see what his job is all about. He finds couple of empty terminals and we sit in front of them and there we go , he starts quizzing me. It is the nature of the job you have to be suspicious of anything and anyone even the tiniest bacterias in the world. The guy next door has been moaning in pain non-stop since morning and everybody seems unaffected by it. "A" tells me that I can go and consult him if I am really curious, and laughs " I was only joking." That's his only flaw; he is too soft, too sweet , and too caring. I don't tell him that we all like working with "J," a bit more . "J" always has some surprise up his sleeve; at first he teases you, lets you down and makes you to fend for yourself. He makes you learn on your own , but watches you every step of the way. Maybe it is because "J," is old enough to be our father or maybe its that "J," is a big tease by nature . Unlike "A" he is not much into calculating the whole situation and factoring in people's feeling, he just likes to play the game. "J's" playful nature makes him a better teacher, maybe because it makes him more real than "A," or maybe it is just the Age..
The man in pain is still moaning, and everybody is doing their job. Me and "A" digress from learning into our lives, and talk for an hour . I like talking to him, he is not sarcastic and I do not have to be sarcastic when I am around him. He is a quiet guy by nature, and I have never been much of a talker either, and surprisingly there are no awkward moments of silence, but plenty of moments of mutual silence. Despite being quiet and calculative he has these little moments when all of a sudden he bursts into laughter and fesses up like : " That is why it is called a JOB, so you can hate it."And then goes back to teaching me more about his JOB, which will one day be my job. Or " The reason I went to school out of state was that my application for USC got delayed, well I got rejected." And then creatively ditches me so I can get out earlier and He can go online and surf the net continuing his furniture shopping.
I leave him and the man moaning in pain behind following my father who is still in desperate search of poetry in the hallways of hospitals and look out the windows.
I know that I have a choice to make here: I either have to become like "A," and live a rather normal life sans poetry , or get the hell out of hospitals and live with my current job which is practically a Shakespeare festival days in and out, or as my friend "S," told me the other day :" Learn to write your own poems anywhere in the world that you are....." All I know is that I did not turn out to be as much of a daydreamer that my father used to be. If I am good at anything it is at being able to untangle myself when i am stuck. I look out the window and know that i will never let this maze of intertwind hallways get into me , because the moment that you have let the poetry out of your life is the moment that you are dead....
Labels: ordinary stories, rotation diaries
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on Tuesday, July 15, 2008 at 11:11 AM.
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I guess I found my way back to your blog! It;s been a while :)
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