The Observer

The Observer

A peek into a life that is not fully understood.

Kenneth Wong
June 10, 2003

? 2003 "The Observer." Reproduction or copies without permission are
strictly prohibited. All rights reserved.

1.
I vaguely remember the time when it all began. As I recall, it left me
rather confused and bewildered as I gazed through the tainted glass
window. The clouds outside presented itself with an unforgiving facade
of gray dreariness with seemingly infinite teardrops falling from the
heavens. They formed mud puddles and water pockets on the saturated
earth, extending their body outlines to match those of the crevasses
and cracks on the asphalt. Often these puddles would be disturbed by
the movement of occasional iron blocks, when upon direct contact,
caused the creation of a new animated rise of life upward toward the
sky. To me it was entirely incomprehensible, even though this creation
only lasted for a few seconds.
But it wasn't so much this that was the root source of my confusion.
The bleakness and the mud puddles didn't bother me, as I have seen them
before. Intermittent flashes of light which temporarily illuminated
this dark room did at times make me apprehensive, after being followed
by a rather deafening echoing rumble that sent slight tremors
throughout the house. It did not, however, perturb me one bit. The
trees swaying back and forth violently in the wind were normal I
imagined, as I have seen this sight before. Predictably, I knew it
wasn't until the following day when the sun usually rises and shines
its brilliant light on the subjects outside, producing a new pleasant
setting while erasing the entire ominous atmosphere that once loomed
overhead. If it wasn't this, then what was I attempting to
understand?

2.
I was situated in the corner of a rather spacious room in the house.
Although rarely lit, I sat beside an expensive wooden finish display
shelf. Its contents were changed and shifted over the years; one time
from picture frames to miniature ceramic creations and another, from
porcelain to crystal figurines. Across the way were portraits of some
sort that hung on the white walls with the hope of enhancing the visual
sense whenever someone entered this room. To me anyway, they were a
bunch of lazily imprinted circles and squares thrown together in a
pathetic attempt to call them creations from the heart. An elaborate
lighting fixture was attached on the ceiling, rarely used since dust
resided on top of its once shiny glass exterior bulbs. But I had seen
this develop over the years and needed to decipher what it all
meant.
As the rain silently slid down the window, I noticed a familiar
looking iron block with two intense and menacing lights maneuver itself
closer to the house until it came to a full stop. Shortly after, the
iron monster went into hibernation and upon closing its eyes, a portly,
balding individual emerged from its body slowly approaching the house
in his soaked business attire. His appearance was ragged and
distraught, which was not typical as I had remembered this man. He
walked with his head down while the rain continually drenched his
exterior and the steps that he took were unusually small, as if he had
a leg ailment of some kind. Perhaps it was not to him at that moment,
but it was strange to me. I had remembered him quite differently; an
opposite of the scene he was portraying beneath this miserable overcast
sky.
The man was always cheerful and full of life, as I remembered him. His
smiles were always encouraging and warm, bolstered by the numerous hugs
and kisses he received from the woman he loved and the young daughter
who meant everything in the world to him. It did seem, during this
time, that this individual had life working to his satisfaction -
happiness was everywhere. I recall the days when he would always take
Rex out for a walk with the rest of the family. Rex was a spoiled
Boston Terrier that did almost anything for a single scrap of food. I
considered it an unintelligent creature since on several occasions; it
did get its own head stuck between the outside gates of the house and
often finds excitement in the incessant barking at insects flying
around the food bowl. It was rather humorous but the creature just
never seemed to get tired of being treated like a king of the house,
with all of the attention paid to its external appearance and not to
its more inner selfish intents. On the inside, all it wanted was the
food that it could sloppily drool and salivate over. It didn't care
about anything else. Along similar lines was this man, I thought. An
exchange - a bargain if you wish - of superficial smiles and handshakes
were shown to others on the outside, which left his true inner self
within the confines of this four million dollar home.

3.
There he stood, completely soaked from head to toe as he emerged in
the main entrance of the house. He threw down his suit on the dull
marble floor, where droplets of water continually dripped from it to
form little puddles. Standing there in his wretched appearance, his
hands were clenched together but trembled slightly from the rain's
impassionate cold chill.
It was much different now. There were no hugs, no more kisses, and no
more life in this home anymore. What had existed seemed to be only a
previous vision I had imagined. Rex wasn't here to pounce up on and
lick the man's face since the creature passed its lifetime several
years ago. The man's daughter would often never be around to see her
father whenever he came back from the long work hours because she was
considered the popular one, so with that she constantly maintained her
seemingly busy schedule with school. Besides, she didn't have a need to
see her father because she thought he never could understand her. The
woman that her father cherished had been consumed by the unnecessary
materials and desires of life, considering the five rather elaborately
designed iron blocks that this family owned. She was a strong believer
of acquiring such items which allowed the support of her reputation
within this community to whatever extent, I thought, but in reality she
wanted all of this to herself. I mean, what better way to achieve such
a goal than to leech off of a hardworking old man? Here, the truth
reveals itself plain and obvious: This family lacked communication that
was of the utmost importance, willing to cast it all away for the sake
of green paper and additional iron monsters to reinforce this pretend
facade of happiness. It was only an idealist's dream and nothing
more.
On quite a few days, the daughter would appear on the brick steps
walking quietly toward the front of the house but seldom entering. This
had become a routine for several months after an ongoing quarrel with
her mother. I wasn't really familiar with what the heated conversation
was all about but I did realize that it caused a grudge, an implicit
separation if you will, between these two individuals. Too many nights
I have heard her silently sobbing outside, sitting on the steps of the
moonlit porch. Many times she just sat there, I observed, lifeless and
motionless like a molded statue staring at the glistening dots in the
night sky.
But on the contrary, during the days of her random excursions to
school and elsewhere, she was energetic and animated. Often, she would
spend hours straightening her long brown hair and painting her face
with colors that created a ghostly pale visage that stared back at her
in the mirror. She also put on shiny rings on her fingers and gold
chains over her neck, which made her sparkle as she casually headed
toward the door. Other times she laughed and smiled comically as she
spoke into a miniature rectangular box that she held toward her ear. In
a way sometimes it did seem she was no different than Rex, only putting
on a show for the audience whom she believed meant everything to her
while secretly concealing her true inner self. On many occasions, the
daughter would come home with a large gift-wrapped present but never
open it. Instead, she would cast it aside next to the garbage container
in the dwelling of a sleeping iron monster, solidifying her concrete
indifference. The already understood craftsmanship, effort, and care
apparently served no purpose to her, as she apathetically went upstairs
to her room and went about her business. It made no sense to me.

4.
The mother, as you would suspect, also had similar expectations - if
not more. She would never settle for anything of the norm, but rather
chose to purchase elaborately designed furniture, sculptures, and
anything that was considered on the expensive end. One time, she
emerged from the main entrance of the house with three other men who
assisted her in carrying a burdensome crystalline statue to the living
room at a precise destination point. She would not settle for anything
less, since she believed that she deserved every piece of high class
and quality items that she had the capacity of buying. It was quite
obvious that she had it all, satisfied to the fullest extent possible
regarding material wealth, but by no means her own life.
A strong belief that became infused in her conscience was for her
daughter to amount to everything that she herself had failed in,
forcing unwanted and inevitable pressure onto the girl. But what was
more important rested in the mother's reputation within the community.
She needed, actually she desired, to be center of attention when
situated in the social scene. She wanted to be the one woman who others
admire indefinitely and at the same time, could attribute her own
daughter's success to her own techniques of encouragement and
motivation. I thought otherwise. Rather, this selfish aspiration had
worked contrary to her main goals and objectives that she had already
planned out. Sadly, she never saw it that way.
The daughter was only the guinea pig for this ostensibly egocentric
experiment. I've seen stories like this through the box of flickering
lights attached to the wall by a myriad number of black cables and
wires. It was a recurring vision I had seen too many times. The girl
would reject and oppose the wishes of her mother, which soon after
would consequently erupt into the yelling and raised tones of voice.
Tears sometimes would drip from the daughter's eyes as attempts were
made to articulate her view regarding such outrageous expectations, but
her so-called adversary would coldly shrug them off indifferently. The
mother believed she could never be wrong in her rationalization since
she indirectly became the authoritative figure here. It didn't matter
that her daughter supposedly held onto a life outside of the family nor
activities that she was involved with in the school. This relentless
stubborn attitude, many instances, resulted in the daughter storming to
her room and locking the door for personal privacy - an effort to
isolate herself with the rest of the family for a day or two.
It was truly a depressing sight to visualize too often at times, but I
felt no sympathy. I couldn't. During her times alone in her room behind
a door that served as a barrier between her and reality, I can imagine
that she felt the freedom that she thought she so deserved. She would
have conversations on the miniature rectangular box, as she sat upright
on her bed, but suddenly realize that she was talking with herself
because no one would answer. No one would be there for her. No one
cared. I guess you can say this was self-inflicted and retribution, in
a twisted way. Just like outside on the steps, I imagine that she would
lie down on her bed and stare upward into infinity at the white
ceiling, crying at the realization that her superficial personality
indeed shrouded her genuine nothingness on the inside.

5.
The father was the only working individual of the household, able to
support and provide for a wife and child of seventeen. He wasn't the
type consumed by material wealth or by status quo since it just came
naturally with the territory, though temptations were hard to resist.
His intentions were pure - just to be considered a loving father and
husband, but unfortunately such vain efforts were never appreciated by
either side. As the years went on with continuing stress and pressure
building from the job, the man grew thinner and his natural brown hair
gradually changed to a whiter, grayish tint in color during his middle
age. His legs and back grew weaker from the lack of exercise and
strength training that he used to perform daily, before the sudden
cancellation of this routine when he landed his high paying
career.
Since then, it all progressed in a downward spiral. Though he raked in
the income that established this four million dollar dream house, he
sacrificed his life, figuratively speaking. There were no more family
strolls in the neighborhood and even if there was time for them in his
busy schedule, the walks would last for five minutes at most. He rarely
got a chance and an opportunity to see his own daughter grow up to the
woman she was beginning to become. But during those infrequent
instances when he spent hours with her, she would ignore and dismiss
this fatherly affection completely to leave the house in pursuit of
what she believed to be worth her valued time. And his wife, who
eagerly spent the majority of his hard earned paycheck to purchase the
items she believed was necessary to sustain her reputation and
satisfaction, would never be there for him. Her husband would come home
from long exhausting nights many times hungry, heating the food scraps
and leftovers that were hastily put together on a plate for him on the
dining table. The nights he spent alone, eating quietly in a dimly lit
room while shuffling through the inconsistently shaped white envelopes
and papers that were addressed to him. While sitting there, his eyes
were fixed on his food as he robotically consumed his meal. I know he
was questioning himself about whether his situation had become
hopeless, but he already knew the answer.
Often the man was considered a true idealist among his peers and
coworkers. He was stubborn to change because his way of thinking became
a habit that had developed over the years. He never saw, better put -
didn't want to believe and admit, that he was living in a fantasy world
in which he could be called the one who was truly loved and
appreciated. And I think that was the cause for this facade.
Straightforwardly said, the man was being pulled apart from all sides
like a teddy bear since he was the giver but never received anything of
gratitude in return, whether a pat on the back or simple 'thank you.'
He was an individual who appreciated and tolerated a lot, with
intentions that made him deserve so much, but didn't have a soul who
cared for his own sake - not even his own family. For this reason, if I
could cry I would but it wouldn't be appropriate. This man could've
always changed his thinking rather than blindly believing everything
was working the way it should. He has to learn how to let go sometimes,
in my opinion anyway.

6.
The relationships within this family that once existed had grown sour.
It's become rather blunt and forthright. Cold, uncaring, hostile
attitudes - whatever you want to call it - lingered and replaced the
general atmosphere as I saw it. The sunlight never seemed to penetrate
into the house since the grime on the windows persistently served as a
rather effective barricade, a reminder of the many years of
indifference. On numerous occasions, I would hear the man's wife holler
across a room, sometimes two, at her husband. He would just stand there
accepting the verbal torture, speechless, as if he didn't have a single
strand of dignity or emotion left in him. The daughter would often
scold at her own father for getting involved in her social life during
the spare times he had with her, yelling at him for making her look
like Daddy's Little Girl who couldn't grow up. Here, the man who wanted
to provide everything for his loved ones would stand there poised in
poignant silence, staring blankly back at them but in his own world
reminiscing the days that he had only remembered in a dream.
These past weeks I have never heard him speak at all. With the
exception of a few depressing sighs and discreet mumbling, the husband
and father to a family of enemies lived his life now in fantasy. It was
his way of blocking out the realization of his truly passive, yet
important, role through the eyes of his family that went unappreciated
for many years. At times, I would see a faint smirk accompanied by a
teardrop that slowly made its way down the man's face as he sat there
on a cushioned chair completely unaware of his surroundings. I guess
you can say he was content in his own little world, isolated and locked
away from the miserable life he faced everyday, where he could start
over again and reestablish the days he yearned for so long.

7.
On the outside, no one suspected a thing. It was just another rich
family living in a mansion in an upper class residential district,
decorated with all of the added accessories that contributed to its
pricey monetary value. The two large stone-carved lion statues were
situated nearby the gate entrance, entangled with vines and flowers
that presented a natural appearance to the house's exterior. Giant oak
trees and carefully trimmed shrubs grew in an organized pattern around
the home to additionally enhance its look. Truthfully, the dwelling was
analogous to the design of an ornate jewelry or treasure chest,
beautifully constructed on the outside which housed the secrets and
reality on the inside.
I would sometimes see total strangers on a peaceful stroll outside
smiling, holding hands, and conversing as if nothing in the world would
come off as a bother to them. This interaction was genuinely greeted by
other people around the area with warm hugs and handshakes. Upon
casually retreating back to the home after hours of socializing, the
family emerged again in full view. The father, his wife, and daughter
would enter the house quietly then the cycle would repeat itself. It
was all for show.
And that was how I saw it whenever I noticed an unsuspecting
individual on a leisurely walk staring from the bottom of the slope
that the house was built on, looking upward in envious awe of this
mansion. But they didn't understand - they couldn't. It wasn't so much
this family with whom I've spent many years with but instead, it was
ironically in a way, these outsiders who really lived in true luxury.
It's because they never had to face or experience this particular
lifestyle and its unintended consequences, which made all the
difference.

8.
After recollecting what I had always wanted to forget, I glanced at
myself in the cage's mirror. Realizing and only superficially
comprehending the gradual transition that occurred during these past
years of my life, it was apparent that my time had arrived. In a world
of intertwined complexities and difficulties, I could never survive
being seemingly incompetent, living a rather simple and controlled
life. Even if I did have a choice, I would rather choose to live a
simple, carefree life than deal with this responsibility. Thinking
about this in depth, it all made sudden sense to me and nothing else
mattered.
So upon my haste in leaving the household through the open window, I
left behind a man who never returned home from work one day, a wife who
desperately struggled to search for additional sources of income, as
well as a daughter who was split between the meaning of real
relationships and trust. For the first time in my life, I was free. I
was tired of seeing the same cycle over and over each day - the sadness
that lingered, the faces the family would put on, and the same
obstacles they would never overcome. I finally felt the true joy of
leaving behind all of the observed misery and facades that hovered
around this luxury home. If I could, I would cry at this very moment
because I never knew what it meant to feel truly alive and free of any
burden, even if nobody noticed my existence.
As I flew across the bright blue sky, I soared overhead beneath the
white puffy clouds and glided my wings toward a promising infinity. I
was free. But who was I to say anything or who even cared? I'm just a
bird.