Thinking about Francisco and his relative invisibility started a thought process that's still coalescing in my mind. It's on an emotional level like Einstein's Unified Field Theory - I can get glimpses of it in its entirety from certain angles, but I want to be able to present it in a way that it all hangs together regardless of the perspective.
It starts with my own emotional history, and my trying to categorize it. However, while absorbing stories of the unique situations and the resulting pain others carry, there seems to be a commonality such that there is perhaps a common avenue of remedy.
I've always had a hot button when it comes to feeling like I'm not being and haven't been heard and feeling invisible. but it wasn't until recently that it's become clear that I create much of the invisibility myself as a consequence of some painful moments that were made worse by also not having the right to protest or to make my feelings heard. This has been a repeating motif within my family, within my friendships, within my work situations, and most painfully, within the church. The result is that I have chosen to expect mistreatment or being ostracized and having no effective voice in protesting what's being done. The short version of the story is that I can see how this has resulted in a lot of self-sabotaging behavior and I can see direct correlations in the ways I've tried to self medicate the hurt, the anger, and to fill the vacuum.
But there seems to be an overall pattern that has two basic components - the hurt/trauma/what have you, which is bad enough, but what might be the more traumatic part follows when the victim has no advocate or safe place to go, or even register a protest.
To avoid feeling betrayed, we limit who we trust. We avoid risk. Whatever light we might still have, we hide under a bushel. And to a large extent, that's been the story of my life, even more so after I got laid off even my boss acknowledged that it was his fault, but there was nothing that could be done about it. And I took a 15 year sabbatical, essentially hiding from the world and only allowing selected portions of the world in through my monthly dance parties.
But even then, there's buildup of resentment over time, to the point where it becomes enough just to be heard, to have any sort of voice, to feel that you have their attention, and the actual pain that was a consequence of the initial grievance have been more or less forgotten. So there's no real chance for the oppressor to experience the empathy that seems to be necessary for true reconciliation.
I think there's more, but this seems to be a good stopping point.
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
Mole Mirror.
I was reading a LA restaurant review which prompted this entry which is a memorial long overdue as a long time Tuesday regular passed away late last year.
Francisco (I never found out his last name) was a short, somewhat chubby but typically cheerful hispanic guy who could have been anywhere from 40-60. He'd apparently worked on a number of restaurants in various capacities and was very knowledgeable about food as well as other topics in general, enough so that I found it hard to believe that he was out of work. I suppose some of it might have been due to the fact that it was sometimes difficult to understand what he was saying as he had a cross between an accent and a sibilant 's'. But if I had a business and needed a gofer, I would have hired Francisco.
On the nights he showed up, he'd frequently stay for the bible study and devotional time and afterwards we often talked about food quite a bit, and one night the topic turned to Mexican regional cuisines, It turned out that the region of Mexico he was from was known for mole. I'd told him that I'd never really had an authentic mole, and he'd promised to make mole for me and bring on a Tuesday night. So for a while when he showed up I'd ask him if he brought the mole he'd promised.
Last year he disappeared off the radar for quite a while and then showed up again for dinner. Apparently he'd contracted the West Nile virus, and he was in the 1% for which it causes serious neurological problems, resulting in him being hospitalized for a number of months. That was the last time I saw him. A few weeks later, someone in line told me that Francisco had passed away, I assume it was from complications from the illness.
He's not the first person from the collection of people who've come for dinner that have passed on. But this feels different in a way I'm having problems verbalizing. Jay was Jay - the reason he was on the street was because he couldn't control his drinking. Ditto for his girlfriend Uno (who, according to rumors, did NOT die. I don't know what to think), who really let herself go after Jay died. I miss them, but I miss Francisco in a different way. I guess it's because I discovered a genuinely likable person that most people probably never got to know, and now he's gone. And I don't want a few people thinking the same thing about me when I'm gone, I guess.
Francisco (I never found out his last name) was a short, somewhat chubby but typically cheerful hispanic guy who could have been anywhere from 40-60. He'd apparently worked on a number of restaurants in various capacities and was very knowledgeable about food as well as other topics in general, enough so that I found it hard to believe that he was out of work. I suppose some of it might have been due to the fact that it was sometimes difficult to understand what he was saying as he had a cross between an accent and a sibilant 's'. But if I had a business and needed a gofer, I would have hired Francisco.
On the nights he showed up, he'd frequently stay for the bible study and devotional time and afterwards we often talked about food quite a bit, and one night the topic turned to Mexican regional cuisines, It turned out that the region of Mexico he was from was known for mole. I'd told him that I'd never really had an authentic mole, and he'd promised to make mole for me and bring on a Tuesday night. So for a while when he showed up I'd ask him if he brought the mole he'd promised.
Last year he disappeared off the radar for quite a while and then showed up again for dinner. Apparently he'd contracted the West Nile virus, and he was in the 1% for which it causes serious neurological problems, resulting in him being hospitalized for a number of months. That was the last time I saw him. A few weeks later, someone in line told me that Francisco had passed away, I assume it was from complications from the illness.
He's not the first person from the collection of people who've come for dinner that have passed on. But this feels different in a way I'm having problems verbalizing. Jay was Jay - the reason he was on the street was because he couldn't control his drinking. Ditto for his girlfriend Uno (who, according to rumors, did NOT die. I don't know what to think), who really let herself go after Jay died. I miss them, but I miss Francisco in a different way. I guess it's because I discovered a genuinely likable person that most people probably never got to know, and now he's gone. And I don't want a few people thinking the same thing about me when I'm gone, I guess.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)