"They know I am a no nonsense man, that's why they've accepted me. They say, 'You know, Mr. Y, you don't put up with bullshit.' And then afterwards, they come knocking on my door for advice. It's so strange, but I can only say 'Be strong,' because you're heart is in the right place, and they will accept you too."
I think about Mr. Y's words--about the appearance of strength, about assimilation and what that even looks like in a community that lures in transients like tuna on a ballyhoo tackle. Only some take the bait wholly, though an entire school may swim in awe of the glimmer. I think about how a local possibly perceives a paradox of foreign similarity in me. My comfort. My quick sensitivity to the stings of criticism. My eagerness to show up. All for what? I shall stay in the cave. Something drew me here.
On our walk back home, I spotted these (presumably) white-crowned pigeons posing like the green parrots of Telegraph Hill, resting en masse behind the Methodist steeple. Despite the numerous electricity lines between us, I was happy to eavesdrop on the congregation.
-C
No comments:
Post a Comment