"Mental" Notes: My Father Lives Here

The Plasma TV
We bought the 55-inch plasma television 5 years ago as a birthday present to the house. It's a large, black television, holstered on steel girders attached to the wall. It has permanent screen-in burn reduction of several rectangles near the bottom of the screen. After a night of unadulterated video game action, the black square radiates intense heat that could make a winter night as blazingly tepid as the summer solstice.

The Bookshelf 
My parents always had difficulty understanding what kind of furniture to get. They tried to impress visitors with really extravagant-looking pieces such as the defunct bookshelf. It sprouts from the desk like Botticelli’s shell, a gleaming white curtain with multiple layers. When it was filled with books, it was the most impressive-looking thing in the living room. Today, it's completely bare. Every scratch and dent is visible and its extravagance fades with age.

The Couch
My aunt had a white couch. After a few seconds of taste, she realized the couch wasn't suitable for her so she dumped it onto us. When the couch finally came to our doorstep, my brother and I rushed towards it and jumped and bounced on it. Today, it's my father's second bed and the dog's home away from home. It's been permanently stained with artificial juices and many spilled water bottles. But for the many vacations spent at home, it was the only place where we felt comfortable. After all, the couch let our asses flatten out onto the cushions and really, what more could we ask for?

The Dog Bed
We bought it for my dog Sonic after my mom suggested he should have a designated place to sleep. It's a leopard-spotted bed only about two feet long, two feet wide. It has a leopard paw on one side, and an opened slit on the other side. Before we left the house, my mom would remember to wash the bed every week; my dad was very busy with his job and left the bed sticky and filled with many uneaten bones. It always upset me since I constantly told him that Sonic shouldn't eat bones. More so than the rest of the dilapidated living room covered with dust and beer cans, I always felt really sorry that my dog would allow himself to sleep in such filth. I finally decided to wash his bed and remove all of the bones, only to find those bones in the exact same place the following week.

The Picture
On the desk where once there was all of my useless papers/drawings, now there are only 4 pictures of my brother and I and many unopened envelopes. One of the pictures is the most hastily made picture frame anyone could ever dare to give to another person. Both of us awkwardly fill up the picture frame and both of our heads just barely touch the corners. We both hold our most triumphant objects, my high school diploma and my brother's championship trophy while wearing our most casual outfits: designer t-shirts and shorts. The picture frame is two shades of blue, divided by dotted lines that crisscross across the frame at a casual speed. The pathetic image of the two boys swallowing their self-indulgence was hastily printed out minutes after remembering we forgot to get our father a gift. Dad doesn't know that. What he knows is that his sons were considerate enough to get him a present. It probably won't last very long, but for him, it'll last a lifetime.

Last summer, I took an online creative writing course for UCLA.  One of the assignments was to select 5 objects from our home and write a short description about them. It had been a year since my parents' separation and I was living in a cramped room with my mother and brother. For inspiration, I visited my father’s house. It was the first time I felt comfortable enough to visit by myself. When I took a brief glance at the living room as it was, I knew I had the objects for my assignment. Good reception from my online classmates and professor was enough motivation to expand the assignment into a full-length prose poem. To prepare, I took many pictures of the house and set aside an entire week to push out the poem. I started working on it at my friend’s house but I could only squeeze out little blips of phrases. It became more painful to divulge further into the disgraceful state of my father’s house. Despite what I’m describing, the poem wasn’t like an autopsy report. Instead, it was like recalling only the pleasant memories during a funeral for a loved one but never overlooking the lingering disease that always existed. What you’ve just read are the remnants of the poem, as I left it a year ago. Someone once told me how difficult writing is because of how personal it becomes. Never was this more true than with this assignment.

The family dogs, Shadow (left) and Sonic (right)

Anger Management

Originally written on August 2012. Unlike previous posts, I will post my thoughts about this story in the comments on a later date.

"Hi, everyone. I'm…Arley Rodriguez.""Hi, Arlee." says everyone.
"No, it's Ar-ley, not Arlee. Actually, it, it doesn't really matter."
This is his first meeting.
"I, um, have an anger problem, but, you, uh," says Arley while scratching his nose, "probably already knew that. I'm sorry, I tend to say really stupid things when I'm…"
Group 5 is made up of 12 heads, each of them as insecure as the next. 4 brown eyes, 7 blues, 1 with an eye tattoo. The 13th head is the leader of the group, Earl Morris, who liked to call himself "the leader". Earl places his comfortable "leader's" chair near the exit in case a session ended prematurely. The quaint classroom setting couldn't disguise the ravaging fury buried in the bellies of Group 5.
"…nervous. Um, I'm fairly young, 23 or so, and I'm still not completely satisfied with life. I…usually take it out on others when a day doesn't go as planned. No one really understands the day system and…shit, let me start over."
Group 5 has many eccentric people. One of them is a pyromaniac, targets objects that remind him of his long, dead puppy. One of them purposefully gets into bar fights to get a larger wound than the night before. One of them decided to exile themselves from society for two weeks after destroying a Girl Scout cookies booth.
"Okay, the day thing is one of the problems but there's many, many others."
"Um, Arley," says the leader, "I don't mean to interrupt but we haven't gotten all the way across the room yet and a few people still need their turn."
"Oh, right, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Tha, that's it." said Arley, slumping back into the rental chair.
The remainder of Group 5 got to share the rest of their stories, each of them ranging from immature to borderline nuts. Of course, Arley usually believes he's immature and insane, so to him, the stories weren't very thrilling. Focused on how much his life currently is, he can only feel condescendingly sorry for the others.
"Thanks to everyone who shared their stories-"
"Especially that fuckface, Arley," Arley whispers to himself.
"-I can only imagine how many unresolved issues you all seem to have and I can only hope that we will be able to resolve each of them in the next few months. Acknowledging that you have an anger problem and are willing to come here is the first step to recovery. Each of you have the capabilities to empower yourself to a happier life." says the leader, the man hired by the government to prevent these people from killing each other.
"Oh, god," mutters Arley as he covers his face with his right hand.
"First, we'll start with an exercise. Everybody, please join hands."
The group disjointedly straightens up, spines curving around on the seat backs. They look to the left and right and grab each other's hands.
"Good, good, that can be very difficult for some people."
Arley sits up, holding his own hands together.
"Now close your eyes. That's it. Relax your shoulders. Let your body ease into submission. That's it. If your fingers are tingling, that's normal because it's touching someone else other than yourself."
Arley starts shutting his eyes, although he couldn't stop blinking them.
"Whatever thoughts you have in your mind right now, acknowledge them and then let them go. Clear your mind of all thoughts. Think of only a blank, empty void of nothingness that's absolutely worthless. Don't forget to breathe. Breathe. Inhale."
Every minute that passes by, Arley's head bobs like apples in a rusted bucket. He knew he wasn't capable of many things, but thinking, that's something he mastered a long time ago. Thinking about nothing makes Arley wonder what an appropriate depiction of nothing could be.
"Ralei, relax. Don't think about it too much. Relax your shoulders. Just let whatever happens to happen. Acknowledge it and then let it go."
Buzz Lightyear closes his eyes, says his famous catchphrase and rolls on the tiny car onto the loop-de-loop racetrack. Two women, terrible actresses, pretend to hurt each other in skimpy outfits; Arley makes sure to include wrestling boots because he doesn't want to see their painted toenails digging into their thighs. An airplane smashes into another airplane, twirling around in the air for a few seconds until dropping onto a commercial airliner that explodes spectacularly. An anorexic 40 year old man stares at a television set advertising a useless product, a new spray specifically designed to get rid of that pesky ozone layer.
"If this is troubling you guys, please don't make an effort out of it. The first time is always the hardest."
Seinfeld making a joke about waves acting like burly club bouncers. Ellen Page sleeping in her comfortable bed as Arley smokes on the hotel balcony at dawn. Peggy Hill using happiness to say a dirty word. Arley,18, and his little brother,13, looking at the alarm clock beeping at midnight, holding their greasy, sweaty video game controllers. A 5 year old Arley bouncing on the couch announcing that he was 5 years old.
"Okay, now let go of your partner's hands, raise your head up and open your eyes."
The group follows his orders except Arley who already has his eyes open.
"How long was that?"
"About 30 minutes, the appropriate amount of time, I think. Now does anybody want to talk about their experience?"
Most people downgrade their "experience" as a moment of peace. Some people talk about how it was the first nap they had in weeks. Others talk about how it was a brutally difficult challenge trying not to think about all of their problems. One person feels rejuvenated. Someone else thinks it was a complete waste of time. Arley isn't sure.
"This exercise was meant to be a primary evaluation of your current state of mind. For some of us, the next few weeks will be a blessing. For others, it will be a continuous hell."
The leader's mandatory speech prompts others to speak more truthfully about their moments, admitting that it wasn't as much of a waste of time as they had believed. They even look more relaxed with less wrinkles on their faces, less visible veins.
"Okay, that's all the time we have for today. We'll meet back here next week in the same room, hopefully."
Everybody stands up from their rusted chairs and walk out of the room, leaving only the leader and Arley, his legs curled up on the chair.
"Arley, I was a little disappointed that you didn't share your experience to the group. You looked very eager to talk in the beginning."
"Um, well, it wouldn't have mattered anyway since I don't really have anything important to say. Ever."
"Now that's ridiculous. Everyone has something important to say. I was wondering if you had some difficulty with our exercise."
"Yeah, I had a lot of trouble. I don't think I've ever had a peaceful moment in my life."
"Well," says the leader while touching Arley's shoulder, "there's always a chance to let a little bit of peace into your life. Listen, you have plenty of time now. Take a few minutes to think about what happened today and think about what the next step could be. It could take a long time but I'm sure you'll find it."
"Thanks. Have a good night."
Arley did spend the next few minutes usefully, walking to his apartment without a single gunshot wound, opening his apartment door without pulling his muscles, walking to his desk without tripping on his dirty clothes, searching for other anger management classes.

And with that, my 4-month break begins. But don't worry if you still want to get some kind of "blog" fix, the Tumblr blog is still avaliable for those services. And while you're at it, join the Facebook group or follow me on Twitter. My little brother Gary will take over the blog for now and he might post something zany so keep an eye out for that.