The Other Benjamin

I really like this picture of my grandparents that my cousin posted. My grandmother is 84 today but one of the things I love to do when I'm at her house is to look at their photo albums. The whole family wore such great clothes in the years past. My favorites are pictures from the fifties to the seventies because they were such colorful photos. My father and his siblings wore loud prints that clashed, bell-bottoms and those nifty aviator Raybans. It was a happy time. I loved those pictures. 

I never got to meet my grandfather. He died when my dad was in his early twenties. I've heard a lot of great stories about him, people say he's a lot like my dad in that they look alike and they had the same gentle demeanor. I hear my Grandpa was, like my dad, also quite a fan of skincare products and smart dressing. He must have been a remarkable man. I can tell my father loved him dearly with the way he's always telling stories about him or what life was like when his dad was still around. I know he idolized him a lot. Once, on a book run (I used to make my Papa buy books I read for fun on any given weekend), my father was very pleased to find out I had Sinatra songs on my shuffle. He told me these songs were his dad's songs, and then he kept singing along until we got home. That was a very nice moment between Ben, Benjie, and I.  

It will be December in a few hours. I lost my dad on a Thursday in December, two years ago. It was five days before my birthday and our conversations that day were simple but great, from what gift would I like to have (I said a Blackberry, he said, "Okay."), my plans after graduation (I only had a term left, he was so excited because he wanted me to go law school or take master's), and if I'd like to invite family over on my birthday (my uncle told me later on that he was in fact looking for crabs to cook on my birthday, they're my favorite so I know finding mud crabs in December is very hard). I still don't know what went wrong that day but I now know how to turn the switch off when I begin thinking about it. 

You don't really forget the pain, you just learn how to live through it. Later on, I will find out that this valuable lesson is applicable to everything in life. You live through things. Nothing is ever that big of a deal because you can and will carry on. I never really imagined that he would never see me grow older or be the person he always wanted me to be, which is why I like this picture of my Grandpa. 

I'd like to think this is how my Papa would've looked like had he grown older, same bushy eyebrows and that very friendly face. He is, after all, my grandfather's junior. Hello, Benjamins. I hope you're both enjoying heaven. 

The Juice is Worth the Squeeze

“Keep your dreams alive. Understand to achieve anything requires faith and belief in yourself, vision, hard work, determination, and dedication. Remember all things are possible for those who believe.”

The Impostor's Daughter

This is my cousin's book and it's awesome so I thought I could write about it a bit to take my mind off the book I am currently reading (An expat's memoir about France, one that is so honestly written that it's just full of raw beauty. I am filled with so much wanderlust and I am not even halfway through! I guess it also helps that for every French man a heroine meets, I instantly imagine Yoann Gourcuff). 

First, a summary: Laurie Sandell grew up in awe (and sometimes in terror) of her larger-than-life father, who told jaw-dropping tales of a privileged childhood in Buenos Aires, academic triumphs, heroism during Vietnam, friendships with Kissinger and the Pope. As a young woman, Laurie unconsciously mirrors her dad, trying on several outsized personalities (Tokyo stripper, lesbian seductress, Ambien addict). Later, she lucks into the perfect job–interviewing celebrities for a top women’s magazine. Growing up with her extraordinary father has given Laurie a knack for relating to the stars. But while researching an article on her dad’s life, she makes an astonishing discovery: he’s not the man he says he is–not even close. Now, Laurie begins to puzzle together three decades of lies and the splintered person that resulted from them–herself.

This will be short. You see, it's kind of hard to talk about graphic novels at length without getting into the illustration or giving away the story itself. Now that I already gave you the summary, I can also go ahead and say that this gem of a book has wonderful coloring (which is the only thing I could say about the technical aspect of the illustration, as I am not an expert). Truth be told, I've seen better drawings from, say, Craig Thompson, Adrian Tomine or even Lucy Knisley, but this book aces coloring (I realize it's completely wrong to compare illustrators because they differ in technique but I am a Philistine in illustration. I am not useful in articulating drawing differences or peculiarities at length). A story this complicated and somewhat dark can easily be translated into even darker drawings but this book did not. The illustrations remained warm and lively, and I really liked that. It didn't give the story any added weight, and it gave me (as a reader) something nice to look at, no matter how depressing Laurie's story got. There was balance and it was really essential in holding my attention, especially when everything got messy (and just atrocious). It is especially disconcerting for me because like Laurie, I loved my father a lot. It made me realize that even our greatest heroes are people too. And as most people, they are susceptible to shortcomings and human frailty. I admit I have the tendency to put the people I love in pedestals. This book made me realize that it shouldn't be that way all the time and if I insist, I'd have to always look away. I don't want that. In my book, blind deference is almost as ugly as the bitter truth.

In the end, (and I'll try not to spoil you as much as I can) Laurie was able to overcome the truth that she has unraveled by turning the other cheek. Giving people a free pass on their many shortcomings may be unacceptable to some, and I will be the first to admit that I am yet to learn the redeeming value in forgiveness of that kind, but Laurie and her siblings were able to do it. They were able to love their father the same way, even if he wasn't what he said he was. I first thought it was a little bit defeatist, letting things be like that but later on, I realized that forgiveness, in whatever form, is great.

Then, of course, the book has frames of this kind which I found raw but funny. Although I would never advocate what Laurie did, (the whole blame game, I'm lost with a lot of daddy issues thing? Just no) I enjoyed reading about it. Two wrongs don't make a right, kids, but they make for one hell of a story (and a book deal, if you're as lucky):

PS. You can learn more about the book (there are excerpts!) and the author in this interview with Jezebel. 

Everybody hurts

“Do you know what happens when you hurt people?’ Ammu said. ‘When you hurt people, they begin to love you less. That’s what careless words do. They make people love you a little less.”

― Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

The Great Perhaps: Seattle & ferry boats

I'm a little down because someone I look up to has let me down.  And when I'm a little down, when I cannot make sense of strong women sinking into a level so low, I like writing about the places I love even when it's been years after I have been in them. I guess I do it to remind me of happier times, of where I can go, of what I can do and of how happy I can still be even on my own. 

I didn't realize I took so many photos aboard ferries, which neighboring residents use to shuttle to and from the city proper. From Bremerton, it takes roughly thirty minutes to get to the Seattle ferry port but those thirty minutes are glorious. It is a comfortable medley of the sea breeze, birds flying overhead, wonderful boats you wave to when you pass them by, and smiling people under the sun. Late in the afternoon, the deck is a good place for people lost in thought or for people like me, who fancy watching the last fire of the setting sun. I like to watch the sky and sea bathe in the golden orange blaze of the afternoon sun, I like watching as it turns  dark pink and then indigo, and then transition slowly into complete darkness as the ferry moves farther away from the city and the sun descends. At night, the ferry's deck becomes a place for lovers admiring the faint glow of the city lights and it just perfect. Perfectly lonely. 

This is a short photo set of that glorious thirty minutes of oneness, of mornings between the sea and self. A small reminder to ourselves of the vast oceans beyond us and the little that it takes to sail away. 

Seattle is a nice place. Personally, I think it is a cross between San Francisco and New York City, two of my favorite places in the world. It has the climate and the relaxed easiness of North California, and it's also surrounded by so much water much like that small but magnetic island on the Eastern Seaboard. I could live here, if neither New York nor San Francisco works out. It is a beautiful place, beautiful enough to be a part of my personal version of The Great Perhaps. It is so easy to develop a thing for ferry boats, Derek Shepherd style. Like the fictional McDreamy, I didn't plan on liking Seattle but I do now. It is a lovely place.