Wings of wax

While hurrying out of Saigon on its last day, I got new wings. Let me explain.

As soon as we stepped foot on an aircraft carrier (after an all-night ordeal, more on this in My Sliding Door) an unhinged chopper blade flew toward us. All faces flat on deck. Cold and wet floor . Back hair raised in animal survival mode.

Then I imagined my head tore from my body as the whoops passed. From that moment on , I have lived an Icarus life, full of pretense and hubris.

Flying with both wings while on fire. Like a candle on its wick end. I learned to pre-surrender at times, too easily. Just let go. My identity, my belief, and whatever I held dear of Earthly life.

Everything was blocked out. Blotted out. Instant amnesia. Who am I? Where am I going?

With a clean slate and a blank stare, one can either do damage (self-inflicted Survivor’s guilt ) or do good (out of empathy and compassion for others).

I chose the later. I chose to be pastoral: to visit the shut-in (nursing homes), to attend to my old Mom’s need (sorry, I can’t take your job offer), to hand out much-needed hygiene supplies to the Boat People (who were quarantined in a Hong Kong make-shift prison camp) and to show solidarity with our fellow African men ( w Africa). Here comes the Sun. The higher away from Earth, the closer to the warmth that melts the wax of one’s heart- like a George Harrison ‘s line ” a long and lonely Winter”. Mind in full alert. Instincts (survival) kick in. Memories flood back..

Past and present intersect with background noise of chopper blades in slow motion. Wings of Wax were propelled by Winds of War.

Panic. Paranoid. Fear.

People in motion. People in motion. Many of whom did end up in San Francisco, without wearing a flower in their hair.

Gentle people, sleeping in closets. Eating whatever handed-out. A banh mi, a cup of coffee (Caphe Sua Da). And on pay day, a bowl of Pho.

Their wings, also made of wax, are also melting just as mine, as the Sun comes up from Santa Monica Boulevard.

The brave, the fearless and stateless. Looking for food, clothing and shelter. Then love at long last.

No longer a Mr. Lonely flying solo. Unhinged and unattached. No dreams, no nightmares. No future no past. Just the wind and the Sun. With each moment and each mile gained equals a chapter lost.

My Mom urges me to keep learning, keep spreading my wings. Learn, learn, learn.

I couldn’t hear from afar since my motto is Fly Fly Fly….all the way until the whole thing crashes.

To be oneself from beginning to end from flooring to flying.

With wings made of wax.

What good is there for humanity to exist! What good is there for us to stand by and watch ourselves withered away. I looked up to the sky, like in Encounter of the Third Kind and saw an Icarus-like creature temporarily blocking the light.

Then I have this premonition that it’s me. In a very near future, melting and dropping out. Till death due us part. Me and my other Me. The meek and the brave. The actual and the ideal. The compromised and the principled. Forever like shifting shadows on a spectrum.

People couldn’t place me on the dial (channel). I meanwhile consider myself fortunate enough to have survived, to slip through that fateful sliding door and grab hold of a future which is now.

Could you please put on Frank Sinatra’s soundtrack…where he sings….” My Way”.

Wings made of wax. What else can one ask for, given his start on a cold wet floor of an US aircraft carrier out in the open South China Sea! I am grateful . So grateful that I ticked the Organ Donor’s box I.e. my remaining wax – can be recycled and continue to-burn over and beyond.