be the place we fix our eyes
Doctor,

My eastern medicine doctor for a couple of years in my adolescence. He was an old old man who reminded me of my grandpa and he spoke the same dialect. Such a resemblance, so kind too. And he liked to play chess (the Chinese kind). And they both were practitioners of eastern medicine. Well, he passed away recently, of some problem with some organ. Not too long after he was diagnosed too. Old folk tend to do that. And I can’t say I’m too sad, I mean I am sad, but I easily came to terms with it. He was old, and he’d lived a good life, helped many people, cured many diseases, and I can vouch for that. 
What I’m really curious about is his last days. I am not sure if people see their lives flash before their eyes when they go, but maybe if they know their time is short, will they take the time lying in whichever hospital bed or hospice bed or home bed and reminisce about the things they’ve done, the people they’ve met? And if so, did my face pop up? Probably not, right? But I think he really liked me. Almost like a granddaughter? Maybe not that much, maybe the granddaughter of a brother. I’d be a tiny tiny sliver of a piece of the pie chart that made up his life. With some 80 odd years behind him, and memory enough to fill a football stadium, would he remember one of his patients with whom he shared some candy with on occasion? It’d be like trying to recall Seat #2 in Section 401 Row 17. Will I remember him when I’m 80? I hope I do. I can still remember when I first met him, and how I’d visit him less and less after the needed year of his medicinal guidance was over. 
Thursday 12/24/2009

Doctor,

My eastern medicine doctor for a couple of years in my adolescence. He was an old old man who reminded me of my grandpa and he spoke the same dialect. Such a resemblance, so kind too. And he liked to play chess (the Chinese kind). And they both were practitioners of eastern medicine. Well, he passed away recently, of some problem with some organ. Not too long after he was diagnosed too. Old folk tend to do that. And I can’t say I’m too sad, I mean I am sad, but I easily came to terms with it. He was old, and he’d lived a good life, helped many people, cured many diseases, and I can vouch for that. 

What I’m really curious about is his last days. I am not sure if people see their lives flash before their eyes when they go, but maybe if they know their time is short, will they take the time lying in whichever hospital bed or hospice bed or home bed and reminisce about the things they’ve done, the people they’ve met? And if so, did my face pop up? Probably not, right? But I think he really liked me. Almost like a granddaughter? Maybe not that much, maybe the granddaughter of a brother. I’d be a tiny tiny sliver of a piece of the pie chart that made up his life. With some 80 odd years behind him, and memory enough to fill a football stadium, would he remember one of his patients with whom he shared some candy with on occasion? It’d be like trying to recall Seat #2 in Section 401 Row 17. Will I remember him when I’m 80? I hope I do. I can still remember when I first met him, and how I’d visit him less and less after the needed year of his medicinal guidance was over. 

,

I wonder if it was me you saw today, and if it was me you waved and smiled that. I really miss the way you sometimes put your hands on my shoulders and squeezed.

I don’t think this about a lot of people, but I’m sure you’ll be somebody famous, maybe an actor, or some kind of hero. Or maybe not.

Monday 12/21/2009

Sunday 12/13/2009

 and how great your affections are for me,

Why is it always such a tug at the strings when in hindsight, I see you?
Maybe there just needs to be more time. Maybe I got over all my other failed friendships just as slowly, but maybe not. I can’t remember. In any case, I wonder how you are. I wonder how you ever were. Because clearly I didn’t know you. Not that I mind too much, we all come to terms eventually, it’s all a matter of time. Out of sight, and out of mind but only so far until you are in mind again (not often, don’t be flattered) conjured up by some memory-provoking thing, anything, every once in a while. Sometimes late at night, hearts get sentimental, you know?

(1 note)

Why is it always such a tug at the strings when in hindsight, I see you?

Maybe there just needs to be more time. Maybe I got over all my other failed friendships just as slowly, but maybe not. I can’t remember. In any case, I wonder how you are. I wonder how you ever were. Because clearly I didn’t know you. Not that I mind too much, we all come to terms eventually, it’s all a matter of time. Out of sight, and out of mind but only so far until you are in mind again (not often, don’t be flattered) conjured up by some memory-provoking thing, anything, every once in a while. Sometimes late at night, hearts get sentimental, you know?

Tuesday 12/8/2009