Tag: Books

joy of giving

  • A close up view of a traffic light illuminatin...
    A close up view of a traffic light illuminating red for stop using light-emitting diodes (LED) in North Carolina, United States. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I saw Clinton’s book on Giving at Goodwill store.

The irony did not escape me: its donor must have thought he/she should act upon the idea right away.

Christmas might be the season of giving, but not when we are at a stop light, ambushed by the man with the “Help me out” sign. Our reflexive rush to get somewhere takes over.

The idea of giving is that it’s part of us, and part of life. Intrinsic and natural, not forced or enforced.

People who give are also people who receive. It closes the loop.

We often receive advice and give advice.

We even give unsolicited opinion.

Without giving, universities and charity won’t function as they have.

Grant for research and grant for immunization.

It’s a tradition in America for the super rich to give back to society.

Now, there is a wealth imbalance, which should trigger more giving to close that gap.

But it has not happened. Go figure.

So give and rediscover the joy of giving.

Get off the chair and start pull out the check book.

Try first at the stop light with the man with the sign.

P.S. After posting this for a few days, I found the man with the sign. Except that birthday boy (65th) holds the sign that says “I have a job, a home and a car. http://shine.yahoo.com/work-money/man-celebrates-65th-birthday-giving-away-free-money-174400395.html  “Want some money for coffee”

For 65 minutes, he gave out $375 to drivers at stop sign, and  found joy in giving.

Then came the rain

It rained on the book fair here in Saigon.

Word and water don’t mix.

But I must admit seeing young readers eager to browse anything and everything, even kissing the note books we handed out, warms my heart.

I can relate to why the Happiness Index listed top countries such as Costa Rica and Vietnam.

Money might not equate to happiness despite its buying power.

Except for things money can’t buy: loyalty, happiness, class, intellectual ability and natural talent in the arts. Yes, money can buy arts, but only commercial art.

We are nearing the Sunday evening gathering at my friend’s studio.

Not concert for Harrison, but for Long, our dear musician friend who had recently passed away.

Celebrating a life.  A pursuit of perfection. Of Art.

In my last conversation with him, I promised to live in full (as I always have).

A promise is a promise.

Long’s musician friends who still love him dearly, will have to perform early since they still have to make a living later that evening.

Books, music, and arts. We are here to make our marks in the world, to brand, to make it lasting and influential. To know and be known that we once existed.

Many held a low view of themselves. Others overshot their positions.

I know my friend well. He lived within his means, his range and his circle.

He left behind many people who are still endearing him.

And he had been one of the few with a smile that is hard to forget.

Thinking of Long, I associate a 7th grader with short-sleeves, playing bass guitar.

Time passing, but not dividing, lost but not forgotten.

I hope when I am gone, I can make a few dents like my friend.

Dents in people’s hearts, because they would be uncomfortable thinking of me. How the hell did he carry all those chips on his shoulders!.

I love Long because of who he was.

The rain has stopped. It served its unintended purpose: street washing. Now can my people go to the book fair!

The bookmark of time

Recently I ran into a childhood friend, member of the band.  Almost 40 years in between.

It were as if I found a cartoon book, with a bookmark which landed me right where we had left off.

We could have been like two kids again, with passion for music and all things jr high.

He recently had cancer and miraculously, escaped death until then. An accomplished professional pianist, he  said he would come back to play in Saigon again.

All of a sudden, those tunes and those faces resurfaced. It’s like buying a ticket to a movie house which shows “Back to the future“.

No wonder movies could say more than any other medium: it got sound, image and mood.

The industry often uses yellowish lighting or black-and-white to denote flashback.

If it were a film, my friend and I certainly were in white and blue uniform, band-rehearsing our piece (3 electric guitars and a drum set).

My years in high school were rush rush. We were witnesses to political upheavals, fast social mores and intense clashes between modernity versus migration.

I remember our shirt collar styles. They kept changing during those years, from being pointy, to being round then Beatles‘ no collar.

The neighborhood tailor’s was doing brisk business.

Music was in Hit Parade, and fashion from Paris Match.

Boys and girls wore shirts so tight that they could be body glove. And those white shirts glowed when the disco lighting flashed on them.

My friend wore a wig when played key board for a Rock and Roll band.

He went pro.

(Ironically, he now needs a wig again with cancer and all).

We have so many unfinished “books” and they all are bookmarked.

The day the 7th fleet marines left a bin at the feet of the gangplank for refugees to drop their weapons before boarding, I also left many bookmarked relationships behind as well.

We call it legacy now. Just a flashback now and then. But one has to move on.

Each day is a new day. New “social network” relationship and connection to be established.

New way of collaboration.

But those memories stay there like books left on the shelves.

With bookmarks, for easy search.

My friend and I opened it right where we left off.

And in my mind, I could still see him with hair, 40 years younger, and a smile that was indelible.

Cancer or no cancer, our camaraderie sticks. Members of the band. Collaboration. Same beat, same tempo.

Many but one. Music dictates. In our case, it was Apache, by the Shadows. Got to go….to Youtube. Try it, you’ll like it.

Maybe it will land you where your own bookmarks were. Even first love, which melts away a hardened heart.

As of this edit, he passed away without another chance to play they Hyatt’s piano in Saigon. But memory of that brief encounter did bring closure to our chapter. Albeit short book.