Today Is a Beautiful Day

As soon as I hit the street, the glare of bright sunbeam is greeting my eyes. I am sauntering on the streets of Condesa leisurely with my hands in my pockets, whistling. “Why do I have to hurry? I have no schedule. In fact, I owe the whole world’s time. Let’s enjoy strolling in the sun for a while. Today is a beautiful day, so well worth a detour on the way to Starbucks,” I talk to myself in a full of good sprit.

I return to the apartment around 2:00 p.m. to eat lunch with Gerardo. About two months ago, a cheap restaurant was opened on the grand floor of the apartment. With only forty pesos, I can eat soup, rice, boiled egg, steak, and side salad. As a matter of fact, food is delicious and voluminous. Without any considerations, we always eat lunch there.

I am skipping to the down stairs after leaving my backpack at the apartment. As I show up at the restaurant, Gerardo has been there already, sitting down on a stool outside, and enjoying being bathed in the blazing sun. I sit down right across him and hail, “How’s your day, my friend?”

“I’m very busy, man. I have a meeting in thirty minutes – that’s why I came here earlier than usual.”

Here a waiter is bringing me a soup with a cordial smile.

“He remembers you, Shogo. You don’t need to order, ha-ha-ha….”

Gerardo pours strawberry water into a glass, gives it to me, and inquires, “Have you find any good agencies or publishers?”

“Thanks for concerning, my friend,” I drink strawberry water and reply, “Yes, I’ve find some publishers. And I’ve sent the part of my manuscript to them past couple of days.”

“Have you registered the manuscript?”

“Never intend to do, my friend.”

He stops eating and looks at my eyes apprehensively. And then he reproaches me, shaking his head disagreeably, “Shogo, you don’t know anything about business. Why did you send your manuscript without registering? It’s very dangerous, man. I’ve already told you numerous times that you’d better protect it first. What will happen when people steal your work and use it for their own benefit? You should think about it more seriously, man, since you’ve been struggling to be a writer for over nine years. Your ignorance for the reality might cause an unfavorable outcome: your past labor will be nothing when people steal your work.”

I Left a Present for You

“What a beautiful morning!” I think to myself while eating a breakfast in the living room. I am humming in a gleeful tune and looking at the outside in a strange euphoric mood with no reason.  Birds are chirping joyfully and flying around the cloudless sky cheerfully. The deep yellow rays of the morning sunlight is streaming through the window, and I am covering my face with my left hand, for it is simply too bright. I understand everything instantly. This is God’s way to say, “Good morning, Shogo.” I am so moved by the unexpected touch of welcoming me to the brand new day. I surreptitiously whisper, “Good morning, Lord Almighty,” with joyful tears on my eyes. I cannot control my happiness anymore; I burst out singing at the top of my voice.

Gerardo is coming out from the bed room, fully dressed. He sees me in a blissful mood and shouts, “By Golly! Are you singing? From the morning? Even snapping your fingers, son of a bitch? It’s too much, isn’t it? People have to go to a job, man! It’s too offensive!”

I give him a huge grin.

He slightly cocks his head deprecatingly in order to show his displeasure that implies, “Gerardo Veloz cannot allow people to show too much happiness in the morning under his roof.” He bombs a loud fart as if it were his answer to my happiness. And then he disappears into the bathroom. After a few brief seconds, he is suddenly rushing out from the bathroom with a furious expression and bellowing, “Did you take a dump in this very morning, son of bitch?”

“Why?” I answer nonchalantly.

“There’s duky floating on the toilet disgustingly, man!”

“I must’ve forgotten to flash it. I thought it was a self-flash.”

“What? You forgot? Are you nuts? Do you think my apartment is a five star hotel? Self-flash, you say? It’s too much, man! I’ve been feeding you and allowing you to stay at my apartment for a gratis. And now you want me to flash your shit to boot? Son of a bitch, I’m not your fucking maid!” he is yelling at the top of his lungs and stamping back into the bathroom, slamming the door ferociously.

He is staying in the bathroom for good fifteen minutes and emerging satisfactory, as if he accomplished a significant task. It seems to me that evacuating made him somewhat ducky. He says serenely, “Shogo, you can use the bathroom now; it’s time for you to take a shower and go to Starbucks in order to commence seeking for publishers, man.”

“Yes, you’re right. I should get going on searching a home for my masterpiece,” I am standing up.

He opens the door for me amiably and let me enter the bathroom, smiling. He lifts up the lid of toilet, looks at me with a frolicsome grin and salutes, “Oh, Shogo, I presume I left a present for you. See you at the lunch.”

With that, he is scooting out like a firecracker.

When I see the inside horrifyingly, a huge turd is floating offensively on the toilet. “Son of  a Mexican bitch!” I yell and flash it repulsively.

I Just Follow My Heart

When I finished telling the story, Jorgito came out with fascination, “Shogo, it was the outstanding story. You must write about it in your next book! Every time I listen to your legendary stories, I feel like receiving an awakening call, so to say…. Oh my God, it’s already half past ten. Whenever I talk to you, time flies away as quickly as a flash. I have to go, amigo, for I’m going to Toluca tomorrow in the early morning. Thanks for sharing your piece of personal history with me. I’ll miss you already – please come back to Mexico City soon!”

He gave me a cordial hug, offered me strong handshake, and walked out, waving his right hand.

I installed myself in the couch and looked at the ceiling for a while. And then I fell to thinking if I made the right choice seven years ago. Yes, I had the chance to graduate the college and transferred my credits to university. I might have a good job and might have a good salary now. But is that everything? No, I do not think so. I admit that I have noting now. I do not have a job, do not have income, do not have any title, and do not have any resource. Do I regret the choice? Nope – I do not regret anything. I still think that I made the right choice. Now I am doing what I love every day and enjoy my life to the fullest. All in all, I live on my life in my own way and feel alive each day. I absolutely have no regret that I walked out the college, so that I could live on an artist’s life. Apparently, the artist’s life is not easy one, but this is who I truly am – I just follow my heart. Aye, everyone has the right to choose his own path. Life is only one time, so we should try to live on our lives according to our heart’s prompting. You might say what will happen if you fail? Nothing will happen, my pessimistic friends. You might fail many times, might lose your courage, might be suffered from ruthless insults, might undergo awful depression, might endure melancholic periods, and so on and so forth. So what? I assure you that even if one falls into the bottomless abyss, he is still alive unless he voluntarily extinguishes the torch of his enthusiasm for life. If we do not let ourselves take a risk, we will never have emotional devastated experiences. Besides, you can always learn something from a defeat. On top of it all, we can feel alive each day when we let ourselves walk on our private destiny ultimately. Forget what other people think of you, stop listening to what other people say, do not let other people to control your life, and do not let other people to manipulate you to make a wrong choice. Ask your heart first, follow your heart faithfully, and sing your song in your own tune at the top of your lungs, that all mankind should do!

Just Enjoy My Life

His lips started twitching involuntarily, and a bitter glint was appearing in his eyes. He glared at me for a while. And then he began explaining, “I talked to your professor about your essay. She told me that your essay is very interesting. She took a considerable time to read it thoroughly. She thinks your creativity is too high. Your unusually high creativity caused you to astray from the topic. And I agree with her point. Your essay is quite off topic because of your uncommonly high imagination.”

I nodded to myself apprehensively and replied, in a firm voice, “Many thanks for your observation. I very much appreciate it. But I totally disagree with your opinion. I think that creativity and imagination are imperative tools for one to write. On top of it all, imagination is everything. I think everything is crystal clear to me now. Thanks for teaching me what I don’t need to learn.”

With that, I stood up, bowed, and walked toward the threshold.

“Shogo, please wait. Allow me to ask you one last question. What do you want to do in your life?”

“Just enjoy my life.”

“What? You just want to enjoy your life?” he was flabbergasted.

I looked at his eyes squarely and nodded solemnly. And then I stepped out the English department with unwavering determination….

It Is Immaculate

He fell to pondering for a while and stated, “I think there is a conflict between an academician and an artist. Academicians and artists have eternal differences and stand on diametrically opposite sides from each other; they are not meant to come together, not any more than sun and moon were meant to together, or ocean and mountain. They are sun and moon, Shogo; they are ocean and mountain. They are not supposed to understand each other. By the way, Shogo, who are your favorite writers? Could you allow me to know some of them, so that I can understand you better?”

“I admire Knut Hamsun, Henry Miller, Herman Hesse, Dostoevsky, Nietzsche, Strindberg, etc.”

“Hm… it looks like you’re naturally attracted to literary giants. That’s very interesting though. I remember that I read Crime and Punishment a long time ago. I vividly remember the part, which Raskolnikov bent all the way down, leaned towards the floor, kissed Sonya’s foot and said: ‘I was not bowing to you, I was bowing to all human suffering.’ In addition to this scene, I love the passage, which he asked her to read the part about Lazarus in Bible. It left me a tremendous impact on me – I was speechless, so to speak,” he wiped the glasses with a kerchief and went on, “Anyway, sorry for the digression. The main thing is that I read your essay with much curiosity. I have to admit that it’s very well written, although I think your opinions are a bit idiosyncrasy. Shogo, did you write it yourself? Or did somebody help you?”

His skeptical question offended me in the highest degree; however I used to being asked this sort of mocking question. Every professor asked me the same sassy question once in a semester. Ergo, I replied nonchalantly, “I wrote it myself. Nobody touched it. It is immaculate. Thank you very much for the derisive question.”