March 8, 2008 at 9:12 AMI think about her addiction. Then I stare at myself in the mirror for a good long while. In the night, I dream I’m at my grandma’s house, where she used to live, before she died this winter. The inside of her house is mostly dark with a reddish ambiance, and I’m feebly fumbling, trying to change clothes without being noticed while headlights shine through the windows periodically. I could use some help, but I’m too busy hiding, trying to change. I remember seeing an unused telephone; my fingers are too occupied to call.
She must be happier now that she’s dead.
The second dream is just a flash, of meadowlark songs and the smell of green. This mirage quickly transforms into the wheezes of my sleeping dog and the persistent grey drip that is the expected weather here in March.
If I can muster it, I’ll play some Bach today. In March, I only play Bach.
I was told that my grandfather was an opium addict before the Communist came, but went to detox centre when the Communist took over and recovered from it. I was also told that most of the opium addicts were cured that way during the early 50s in China. I don’t know if this is true, but what I do know is addiction is still rampant in today’s China, and the money-addiction being the worst, imho.
I’m told that we all have addictive tendency. I’m frequently overwhelmed or even cursed by compassion towards such suffering among friends and loved ones. At the same time, I confess, seriously addicted persons are like some other mentally/emotionally warped people, they terrify because they’d suck me in, burden and crush me before I can think straight to do anything useful to help them, or myself. It’s easy to say, let’s leave the problem to the pros, but these people are among your friends, relatives and colleagues, and for most of the time, they are quite normal and lovable. Tough and sad ...
This entry has been archived and is no longer accepting comments.