Suga Suga: Confessions of a former gamer

A rather catchy rap song with face palm-worthy lyrics,
Listen to it, you’ll hear it, the line that’s nothing short of cringy,
Somehow stormed through the charts way back in 2004,
Was riding high on the day I took a massive step forward,
A rather lengthy entry, another step back in time,
Here it comes, a glimpse into a past life.

I was never considered the ‘rebellious type’ as a kid. I never skipped class or vandalized a teacher’s house although I’d be lying if I said I’d never considered the latter. I got along well with my family and friends and didn’t engage in any form of delinquent behavior as a teenager with the intent of showing off to my friends how much of a ‘hard guy’ I was and all that nonsense.
You could say that I was a ‘good boy’ with no serious vices.
Well, almost.
I may not have been a wild child but I still drove my family up the wall in another way.
You see, I was also a gamer.
Nothing wrong with that, but I was a rather die-hard gamer. That was sometimes a problem.
Every weekend, and especially during school breaks, you would likely find me parked in front of the TV set, controller in hand, or in front of the computer, having completely shut myself away from the world like a hermit. For the most part it didn’t cause much conflict between my family and me but there were times when we’d bicker over little things caused by my gaming like a clash of TV schedules, arguing for a turn on the computer and the most exasperating of all, trying to get my attention while my mind was elsewhere. Lord knows there have been numerous times when my parents and sister have had to call my name several times before I finally snapped into action. They might as well have been talking to a stone statue of a boy seated.
I continued to play through my teenage years but once school was over, my gaming ‘career’ also came to an end. As I look back on it now, how I got to that point is quite an interesting tale.

During a family conversation a few years ago, my mother revealed that I was fascinated with cars as a young boy and it got to the point where one glimpse was all I needed to accurately name the make and model of a vehicle. I couldn’t do that now, not unless I see a logo and even then I wouldn’t know what model and year it was from. The four-year old version of me would have face-palmed himself and wondered how the hell he grew up to be a total loser before getting back to his toy vehicles and superheroes, the poor cars eventually reduced to rubble in the aftermath of a titanic fistfight between Batman and Superman that was as thrilling as The Thrilla In Manila.
I can also remember being fascinated by tall buildings, marveling at their sheer size and majesty whenever my parents took my sister and I on outings to the city and I can also recall a time where I was damn near obsessed with drawing clock faces and pie graphs on countless pieces of paper. Yup, somehow drawing circles with numbers and various arm positions was enough to keep me entertained for hours.
My parents should have seen that as an early sign of the rather weird kid that I would soon become.
My mother also added that I would also watch the wheels of another vehicle go round and round whenever we drove beside another car or truck on the highway. My sister took that as an opportunity to joke that I could have been an engineer or a scientist if only I didn’t get sidetracked by video games.

Me? A scientist or engineer? Good one, Sis. Surely you jest?

I can’t quite remember that either but if all of this is true then she might have been spot on about the video games. Whatever engineering or scientific potential I once had, it was obliterated by the time I was ten years old. I can’t speak for my parents but they probably would have agreed, though probably more out of blaming every shortcoming I had on something that they felt was mostly a negative influence on me (let’s be real, all parents do that!). While they did let me play, they probably would have preferred that I was physically more active and academically-conscious. Sure, I had other activities on the side but I can’t say that I attacked them with the same amount of enthusiasm and glee as gaming.

It all started innocently enough. I was introduced to gaming by some of my older cousins and it was love at first sight. We’d spend most family gatherings battling one another, with me frequently on the losing end as they would use every trick in the book against me without letting me in on their secrets, but it was fun. And since most of my friends and classmates at school were also gaming my parents somewhat reluctantly allowed me to play games on some of my dad’s computers and eventually bought me a few consoles so I wouldn’t feel left out and I dove in head-first.

Bye bye, world!

Talk about being caught hook, line and sinker.

But in my defense, while my folks might have felt that I was ‘obsessed’ with gaming, I wasn’t getting my fix nearly as many times as some of my peers. For a start, I wasn’t gaming every single day since I was only allowed to do so on weekends and during school holidays so as not to clash with my schoolwork, extracurricular activities and health and even then my parents allowed me only sixty minutes max per day of gaming time. That’s right, one hour maximum per gaming day. I could either break it down into two thirty-minute sessions or one sixty minute epic.

What a gyp! The other kids are so lucky.

Seeing as how I am the type to completely lose myself whenever my mind enters into another world, be it while reading a book or gaming, I would use up those sixty minutes in a single session. One hour would come and go quicker than I could believe and before I knew it, it was ‘see you next time, buddy’, much to the relief of my family who must’ve had to endure the longest hour of their lives whenever they wanted to watch TV in the living room or use the computer. That sixty-minute rule might have seemed archaic but somehow, I acclimatized to it very quickly. I guess it was better than zero hours and that’s probably what I would have been left with if I challenged my parents in family court with the odds stacked against me and with only my young dumbass self as my own attorney.
My parents also drilled it into my mind numerous times that I needed to put school ahead of gaming and that I would be banned from playing if my grades went to the dogs. It was a reasonable arrangement but for me it was equal parts fucking horse shit and a threat tantamount to being held at gunpoint. I hated school with a passion but I still put in as decent an effort as I could muster. Sure, the positive feedback from my teachers and the praise from my parents were sweet but truthfully, those good grades were merely my tickets to more gaming time. I couldn’t care less about being the top performer in my class.
I had also picked up some extracurricular activities throughout my elementary school years, starting with swimming and karate on Saturdays and Fridays, respectively, and then eventually guitar lessons on Tuesdays after I had dropped the swimming. I guess you could say that I had other ‘distractions’ in my life besides school that prevented me from becoming a full-blown gaming addict.

All up it seems that gaming didn’t leave me completely damaged, right? Well, I wouldn’t go that far. See, while I remained mentally and psychologically intact my physique certainly suffered. Being a growing boy with an enormous appetite and an aversion to any activity that required physical effort, my body soon crossed over into roly-poly territory and at times I heard it loud and clear from my leaner classmates.  Swimming lessons as a child certainly were a doozy. That I could swim faster than some of those little jerks and was learning karate on the side didn’t mean shit once they caught a glimpse of the wobbly gut and the man-titties and no amount of comebacks from me could put an end to their jabs.  
I also wear glasses now due to near-sightedness but I don’t recall being born with crappy vision. It’s rather difficult to point out when my eyesight went to shit but I would say that the teacher’s notes on the whiteboard began to look fuzzy once I had entered the seventh grade and it was downhill from there. I soon found myself frequently sitting at the front of the class against my will simply because it was the only way I could copy the notes on the board without bothering my seatmate until I finally swallowed my pride and got glasses as a seventeen-year old.

Looks like it wasn’t just any potential I ever had as a scientist or engineer that was torpedoed.

And finally, all that gaming made me rather oblivious in my youth to what was happening in ‘the outside world’ since most of my downtime was spent conjuring up a battle plan in my mind like some sort of army intelligence officer for my next gaming session. I even did that shit sometimes in the classroom when my brain switched off from the teacher’s incessant rambling. I wasn’t totally detached from reality, I was generally aware of what was happening around the world and within my family and social circles, but when it came to movies, music, TV, fashion trends and everything else one needed to know to be ‘cool’ or ‘hip’, there were definitely times where I would listen to my friends converse and nod along as though I thoroughly understood what they were discussing when nothing could be further from the truth, just like Joey Tribbiani from that TV show Friends. I could only respond with stone-cold silence when I was asked for my input and boy was that awkward as hell.

I dropped my extra-curricular activities as I entered high school due to the extra workload and the first salvo was fired when I started getting homework on Friday afternoons right in my very first week of seventh grade, which at first proved to be extremely difficult to accept but I quickly adjusted to, though that never made it any more fun despite my father encouraging me to try to enjoy it.

Geez, you try to enjoy having to do math equations on a Saturday!

Anyway, with the karate, swimming and guitar lessons now confined to the past I had more time for gaming away from my schoolwork, especially since my parents had slightly relaxed their sixty-minute limit as they felt that I was older and should be made more responsible for the way I managed my time. Or perhaps they wanted to test my ability to stay disciplined. If that was the case then I guess I passed with flying colors since I continued to earn good grades in school and never allowed my gaming sessions to take up too much of my time.

Rest easy, y’all. You taught your boy well.

And then came the year 2001, the beginning of the slow end of the gamer life.

I continued to play whenever I had the chance to but I no longer attacked those sessions with the same amount of zeal as I had as a child. Had I been a professional athlete this would be the year in which commentators would notice a dip in my form. It could have been due to an ever-increasing school workload since those merciless teachers began to dump assignments, exams and homework on us in stacks, but the real reason arrived on the day that my father gave me an old piece of exercise equipment that he encouraged me to try. He thought that since I was old enough to learn how to drive (though I would put that off until the following year) and no longer had extracurricular activities I might as well use that free time to get into shape.
I had to admit, as a rather skinny teenager and former chubby kid, the challenge was appealing.
At first I used this contraption more out of curiosity than anything, skeptical of its power to transform my skinny-soft body, but I felt so good and so strong afterwards that I used it again the next day and the day after that and so on and once I began to see and feel subtle but positive changes to my physique and overall well-being that was it. I had found my new home! The gaming gradually began to take a backseat in favor of chasing the good vibes and ‘the pump’ that I would get from training and somewhere deep inside, the chubby kid that I once was must have been sticking it to all the skinny twerps that had tormented him in school.

Check out these guns, assholes!

I was no Adonis but I was in much better shape than I had ever been.

This continued during my last two years as a high school student as the school work and assignments continued to pile up, all of which culminated in the Higher School Certificate (HSC) during my final semester in the twelfth grade. Free times were increasingly difficult to come by and so stress-relievers became a necessity. But what did I do when I wasn’t studying and wanted to blow off steam? I was listening to music and working out, further pushing gaming out of my life. Unlike my childhood years I no longer panicked whenever I missed a gaming session and the sight of me in front of a screen was no longer a regular occurrence. My family must have silently breathed a sigh of relief.

And then one day, it was all over.

Having received a DVD player a few Christmases ago (it was the early 2000’s, folks. Those things were still a big deal) the DVD collection had slowly been growing but in early 2004, we needed more space to house some of those discs since we had filled up a few small shelves already. The only option outside of building another DVD shelf and possibly congesting the living room was some space in the shelf that housed the DVD and VCR that were currently occupied.
What were the items that took up that space? You guessed it, my consoles. And one day, I found myself saddled with thoughts I daren’t have ever entertained ten years earlier. I looked at my consoles, all but forgotten and gathering dust, and took a deep breath.

It’s time to pull the plug.

It was for the best. They would have been doomed to a life of decay and neglect if they stayed in that shelf and given the fond childhood memories I have had as a gamer I couldn’t do that to my old electrical friends. They deserved far better than that. So one day, with some resignation but no regrets, I told my parents and sister that I would pack away my consoles and make some space for those DVDs. In a moment that was fairly reminiscent of that scene in Toy Story 3 during which a teenage Andy is shown playing with Woody and his other toys for the last time before leaving them with Bonnie, I played a game on the old Super Nintendo for the final time one morning while I was home alone (it was the first console I ever owned so I felt that it was kind of symbolic – and corny) for about an hour before spending the next hour unplugging, cleaning and storing my old friends back into their boxes and stuffing them into my wardrobe.

So long, guys. Thanks for everything, it was a blast.

As cheesy as it sounds I felt like a retiring athlete that had just finished their final game. No emotional final press conference and retirement ceremony here, though. I simply shut my wardrobe and got on with the rest of the day. I guess this marked the official end of my youth and the beginning of the adulthood. To borrow a lyric from a Blink-182 song, ‘well I guess this is growing up.’

The gaming landscape has changed dramatically over the years since I had ‘retired’ from that life. People can now make a living from being ‘professional’ gamers for a start, on their own or as part of a team to compete with other gamers in the country and around the world. That’s a gig that the young version of me surely would have loved to have been involved in.

Where the hell was this when I was still active!?

Before you ask, yes, I have considered ending my sabbatical and getting back ‘into the game’, so to speak. Some of my favorite games as a kid have marched on (The Street Fighter and Mortal Kombat games were probably my all-time favorites) and watching clips of the gameplay on youtube, complete with insane graphics, sound and effects are enough to rekindle the old competitive juices within.

Damn, this is some next level stuff! I’ve got to try this!

Even taking a trip back down memory lane and watching youtube clips of some of the games that I used to kill time with has had the same effect.

But I never succumbed to the temptation. I remain retired.

Too many things have changed over time and I wouldn’t have a clue where to start. ‘Download this’, ‘download that’, ‘online this,’ ‘online that,’ ‘go live on this,’ ‘go live on that’…….and then you see more consoles being churned out faster than you can say ‘slow down!!!!’. Gameplay is no longer as straightforward as it used to be. It is too overwhelming and I would probably waste a ton of money on downloads and extra ‘accessories’ just trying to finish ONE particular game plus a hell of a lot of computer data in the process.

All of that aside, I just wouldn’t have time anymore and the desire is gone. Would you try to convince a retired athlete that no longer has the drive to train and compete in their chosen sport to make a comeback just for the sake of ego and chasing past glories? I’ve filled up my spare time with hobbies that are far healthier and more fulfilling for me, physically, mentally and spiritually, than gaming ever was. Learning a new exercise? That’s exciting. Exploring a new place? That’s exciting. Reading a new book? That’s exciting. Hanging out with family and friends? That’s fucking exciting! Writing another blog or poem that, hopefully, would entertain my readers? Hell yeah that’s exciting!

This is not to slight any gamers out there, everyone is entitled to their hobbies and interests and I will always say that gaming was one of the reasons why my childhood was so awesome. It may have killed my shot at being some kind of genius and wreaked havoc on my physique and social skills but I think it also helped me develop problem-solving and critical thinking skills as a kid although those skills inexplicably deserted me during math exams. I also have friends now that are gamers on the side and they are some of the coolest people I know and are the complete opposite of the nerdy, ill-disciplined, socially-maladjusted, psychopaths-in-the-making types often portrayed by the media. If people want to play games then they should be free to do so as long as they enjoy it at reasonable levels.

Which brings us to the other end of the spectrum and why, looking back, I should consider myself lucky that my parents had set rules for me as a child when it came to my gaming habits. I cringe whenever I see or hear news reports of kids and even some adults literally spending days at a time gaming non-stop, forgoing meals, work, school, sleep and even using the bathroom (adult diapers will take care of that), neglecting their families, friends and lives in the process. Two trains of thought immediately come to mind when I hear about that shit; what their caves must smell like and also how could people do that to themselves. Ok, there may be some out there that would praise these folks for their dedication and passion but man, I ain’t buying into that garbage. You know you need serious help when you’ve reduced yourself to wearing diapers beyond toddler age because you can’t get up long enough to take a shit or piss and are a slave to your machine.
Sadly, people have died doing that shit. Imagine the obituary; ‘Here lies so-and-so. Died by video gaming. He / she shat their drawers’. What a way to go, huh?
And then you also have gamers that respond violently when told to get the fuck up and rejoin the real world. Just like our shut-in from the previous paragraph this type of chump only feeds into that stereotype of the obsessed psychopath gamer image that level-headed gamers have had to put up with. I do sometimes wonder if I could have gone down that path had my parents not set limits to my gaming habits. Like I wrote earlier, I used up those sixty minutes in one sitting and if I had it my way I would have gone on and on until boredom finally got the better of me or I finished out of my own free will – and as a child I had no semblance of self-discipline and gaming was NEVER boring for me. So while that weekends-only, sixty minutes max rule was bullshit at the time, I guess in the long term it saved me from a much sadder – and disturbing – fate.

Thanks, Fam. I get it now.

If I ever have kids and they decide that they want to follow in daddy’s (childhood) footsteps they’d better be prepared to follow some rules and that shit will be non-negotiable. It’s my way or you don’t play, simple as that.
And if they want to go online before they are teenagers…..forget it. Not on my watch, no matter how many times I have to hear ‘I HATE you!’, ‘You’re ruining my life!’ and that old knee-slapper, ‘You NEVER let me do anything!’. Naw, Son-or-Daughter. None of that shit until you are old enough to grasp the responsibility and dangers associated with the Internet. You never know how many creeps out there are looking to prey on kids.

I sometimes stand before my open bedroom wardrobe staring at those boxes, allowing nostalgia to transport me back to my youth where I spent those sixty minutes in front of a screen, the outside world ceasing to exist as I had the time of my life in gaming heaven. Sometimes I can hear that young boy in my mind urging me to plug in and have one more go, just for old times’ sake.

Sorry, Kid. The fire is gone.

That gamer kid, chubby, hopeful and smiley, exists now only in my memory and in the various photo albums that my parents kept in their bedroom while the consoles that were his best friends and temporary escape from real life remain unused and untouched, sealed in their boxes, serving now only as a reminder to a past life.

Tender Love: House Party

Piano-flavored slow jam from the mid-80s by Force MD’s,
Heard this one during my return to social gatherings,
House party in mid-October hosted by a friend,
It’s a great feeling, to be out and about again,
Feeling good, bullet-proof like Sia,
So much energy, wanna  swing off that chandelier,
Another short entry, this one is,
But another fond reminder of my victory.

6/10/2018

During early June of 2018, before the severe cramps, the blood transfusion and the colonoscopy, I had received an invitation on Facebook from a friend for a house party that she was planning to throw sometime in early October. Despite already experiencing subtle yet frightening symptoms and unsure about the near future, I accepted. You could say that my pride had kicked in and decided that these bloody stools and increasing anxiety weren’t going to get the better of me. They had faded during those two and a half weeks in the US and Canada during late April and early May, surely they weren’t going to last this time. But as we know now, I was so painfully wrong about that.
But as we also know now, yours truly fought back like a man possessed and won the war, with the help of some good doctors plus friends and family. I guess I didn’t have to call or text her about being a no-show to the soirée.

Ok, let’s fast-forward to the day of the party. I had earlier informed my friend that I would come over, right before accompanying my father to a nearby lights store to buy a replacement bulb for the overhead heating light in our bathroom. I was still on those three serves of Imuran and four serves of Mezavant and continued to feel better than the previous day and as I sat in the car with Dad during the drive back home, I decided in my mind that I maybe would be strong enough to return to the Wing Chun Academy within the next two weeks. My previous meeting with Dr. B had revealed that I was in pretty good shape and he had given me the green light to resume my normal activities and that was all I needed, especially since he had made it his personal mission to get me back into my teaching and training. Of course, I would have to ease myself back into it rather than go in guns blazing from the word ‘go’, but I was truly itching to get back into it.

More on that in another post, let’s get back on track. 

Following that trip to the lights store, a small, rather cramped shop that resembled a garden shed that was packed to the rafters with an assortment of lamps and lights at every corner and owned by a nice elderly Asian couple, I took it easy for the rest of the day although I did take some time to do some tidying up around the home, which mainly involved vacuuming the floor and straightening up some shelves. No Marie Kondo-style overhauls here, folks. I didn’t find anything that no longer sparked joy. I also took a mid-day nap shortly before joining my parents for lunch, a ritual that had been instrumental to my recovery that I still try to do whenever I can to this day. At the time of this writing (mid-2019), Spain had been deemed by the Bloomberg Healthiest Country Index as the healthiest country in the world and I believe that their love for the siesta played a major role in their quality of life.

Later that night, I had dinner with my parents and rested for fifteen minutes before driving to my friend’s home. She lived around twenty minutes away from me and the drive to her place was rather challenging, made doubly so by some road repairs along the way plus the darkness of the night sky. The route featured some easy-to-miss turns and combining that with the road works plus the night sky, even with help from the GPS, made for quite an interesting trip. At one point I was forced to take an alternative route due to a wrong turn. But I made it to her home without any serious incidents after twenty-five minutes of driving, though there were already plenty of guests by the time I’d arrived and her driveway way already full.

Ok, I guess I’m sorta-kinda-fashionably-late.

I parked the car along the street before knocking on her door. She opened it and greeted me with a warm hug before asking me to come inside and have something to eat and drink. Having already had dinner beforehand (I wasn’t sure whether or not there would be food on hand) I poured myself a glass of water before making the rounds and looking for people I knew. It was a packed house and the scene played out like your typical house party, where people mostly hung around with those that they knew and spread out in little groups around the house though they would greet and make small talk with others once in a while before rejoining their tribes. My friend the hostess’ pet dog probably made the most rounds, as she did laps around the house and joined different tribes, looking for the best head and neck masseuse of the house to give her a good rub. But like a free-spirited wandering warrior in those old samurai films she didn’t stay with the same group for too long.

Sure enough I found a small group of friends I knew seated on the dining table and once I had exchanged greetings and hugs with them we spent most of the night together catching up while intermittently chatting to other guests within our vicinity that were willing to go beyond ‘hi’ and ‘what’s up?’. We covered the typical range of topics that one would normally bring up during a catch-up; war stories from work, travel stories, families, babies, life’s typical ups and downs…..we covered many topics. The state of my health eventually came up, mostly because I had been unable to attend one of their birthdays a month earlier due to a still-unacceptable haemoglobin count, and so I explained to them as gently as I could exactly what I had been battling for the better part of the year, keeping some of the nastier details in the dark as it’s not exactly the type of thing one would discuss at a social setting where eat, drink and be merry was the order of the day.
A mixture of horror and curiosity manifested on my friends’ faces as I recounted my battle and naturally, the very first question presented to me was what the hell ulcerative colitis was and what had caused my immune system and bowel to betray me the way they did.

If only I knew, my friends. If only I knew.

Those fucking Benedict Arnolds!

Thankfully my story didn’t take up the entire conversation and after a brief discussion and some words of encouragement we moved on.
The hostess eventually brought out a massive cake for the guests not long after and once she had distributed a generous slice to all who had room for dessert, she joined my little group to catch up. At this point, we were now seated on a sofa in the living room, the most popular seat in the house in front of a television set. I guess you could say that it was similar to that giant plush sofa at Central Perk from that TV show Friends and once it had become vacant we pounced on it. A large piano stood in the background, not far from the front door.
By this time, some of the other guests had left. I checked the time on my phone;

8:45, huh? Wow. Time sure flew by quickly. I guess I’ll be off in fifteen minutes.

My friends asked me around this time if I had resumed teaching at the martial arts academy. While I had decided earlier during the day that I would return in the next two weeks I hadn’t actually revealed that plan to anyone, not even to my father as we drove home from the lights store.
“I’ll be going back in two weeks,” I responded.

Ok, it’s out there in the open. No turning back now.

We spent the rest of the night talking and took a couple of group photos together (it’s 2018, people. Of course there was going to be a group snaps or four) before calling it a night.

I arrived home at half-past-nine, the journey and the traffic far more forgiving than it was when I left the house. I sat in the living room for a while to unwind before heading off to bed. As I lay in the dark waiting to nod off I reflected on some of my personal achievements since my last meetings with Dr. R and Dr. B. Started working out again? Check. Got back on the driver’s seat? Check. Gone on a road trip? Check. Attended a social event? Check.

Not bad!

And the next step was to return to the martial arts academy, my second home. The mixture of excitement and anticipation were the last emotions I felt as I drifted off into Dreamland, the perfect way to end a rather awesome day.

Gangsta’s Paradise: Right On The Button

I remember bumpin’ to this tune way back in ’96,
Coolio killed it with this joint before his career hit the skids,
’twas a big hit for us 90s kids,
probably the closest we’d come to being gangsters, bloods or crips,
also took me back to one particular day,
one filled with thrills, spills and a whole lot of pain,
It was just another day, a game of soccer under the sun,
lunchtime ritual away from class, it’s time for some fun,
didn’t need to be a pro to be all in,
just needed heart and a child-like desire to win,
been a long time but I can still recall when the cocky young peacock tamed the hulking behemoth.

We all picked sides, ain’t nobody wanted to be the keeper,
one conceded goal will see that dude taken to the cleaners,
never mind if their teammates left them hanging and wide-open,
the blame falls on them, always, they’re gonna have to pay for it,
that role fell to me more often than not,
Ain’t no magician with the ball might as well block all those shots,
I watched from my post as the others dribbled, passed and slid,
spinning and posturing, channeling their inner Lionel Messi,
forget a friendly match, these park games were wars,
such is the mind of a child, it was win-at-all costs.

Against the backdrop of that peaceful, early afternoon calm,
the young men whooped and hollered as they kicked that ball around,
orders were shouted like some Saving Private Ryan shit,
at times it got heated but was left in the pitch,
twenty minutes of game time before heading back to class,
to silently pray that the time would go by fast,
this day was different, something was imminent,
a free kick was called, lunchtime’s over in 10 minutes.

A slick striker, let’s call him Rick, offered to take the kick,
a successful last-grab would crown him king of the kids,
but standing before him was a menacing brick wall,
let’s call him Don, that kid was built like a mini Incredible Hulk,
like a scene from an old western film the young men eyeballed one another,
one of them would fall before lunchtime was over.
Rick was ready to take his shot but Don was too close,
“better get back,” warned Rick, “this shot’s no joke,”

Brimming with ego and bluster, the big ogre scoffed
“shut up and kick!” he roared, “you’re not getting shit off!”
he set up in front of Rick, almost in a sumo squat,
that ball shall not pass, no, not on his watch,
so Rick took his shot, a loud boom echoed immediately,
down went Don, clutching his jewels, vomiting profusely,
shit was colored purple, damn, Boy, what ‘cha been eating!?
his aura of intimidation shattered, poor Don’s arrogance melted into weeping.

Tears streamed down his face as he rolled about in agony,
feeling as though he’d been castrated or undergone a vasectomy,
both warring factions gathered around the fallen beast,
with a mixture of concern and stifled laughter, topped off with disbelief,
Rick couldn’t care less about the scene that he’d caused,
“I warned him,” said he, “not to stand too close to the ball.”
just like that, the game was done, the bell was imminent,
took three lads to help Donnie to his feet, the pain between his legs worse than the sting of defeat.

That’s one particular incident that I can recall vividly,
from my enormous storehouse of childhood memories,
learn from Donnie’s error, stay humble, be confident but not cocky,
life will even the score, always, sometimes sadistically.





Ocean Drive: Follow-Up with Dr. B

A nice R ‘N B tune from late 1995,
Nice beats, smooth guitar, even a trumpet solo, this one’s a favorite of mine,
Was expecting good news from the doc around this time,
Here’s where I’ll be rewarded for the hard grind.

3/10/2018

My next meeting with Dr. B was scheduled for the third day of October. I continued to go from strength to strength leading up to the date, rebuilding my broken body through simple strength exercises and light cardio in addition to eating healthily and taking my medication. Day in and day out it was eat, sleep, train, take meds and repeat, still running on that recovering patient treadmill, although now I had recovered sufficiently enough to work out and go for walks and short drives so it wasn’t quite as exasperating anymore. I wasn’t shifting gears just yet, though, tempting as it was. I needed to get the green light from Dr. B first before I could return to my normal routine, albeit a less intense version of it.
But I did go on my first road trip in months with the family a few days prior to the appointment to a Japanese-themed botanical garden located a few hours away from home. The sun shone and the winter air was slowly dissipating, allowing for the perfect day to stroll among plants, trees, gardens and a sprawling pond smack bang in the middle of the place although some trees hadn’t yet recovered sufficiently enough from winter and carried some bare branches as a result. It was the first time in months that I had been away from home for anything other than a trip to the doctor or hospital and I saw it as another victory over ulcerative colitis.

I felt calmer and more at ease a few days later as I sat in the waiting room of Dr. B’s clinic with my parents. It was late afternoon and the sun was setting outside as the chilly spring air picked up. We were expecting positive news and were also curious to find out if it would be possible to reduce my dosage as my health had improved significantly. While I had grudgingly acclimatized to life as a chronic disease sufferer I was hopeful (and remain so to this day) that this fucking disease would eventually leave me alone forever and that I wouldn’t have to put these drugs into my system anymore. The idea of being dependent on medication in order to function properly never did sit well with me. I preferred to be healthy as a horse and free as a bird and I missed the feeling of going out with friends and traveling overseas without having to worry about lugging around a bag of medication with me.

Dr. B called us into his office after fifteen minutes of waiting. It had been two-odd months since our previous meeting and during that time I had successfully weaned myself off of the Prednizone tablets, raised my haemoglobin levels back to a healthy level and taking three Imuran tablets and four Mezavant tablets a day, the full dosage for both. My parents and I were chomping at the bit to shock the hell out of Dr. B with my progress and as we walked into his office the look on Dr. B’s face said it all. He smiled as my parents and I took our seats, visibly impressed that the walking, talking, pale-faced cadaver that he had become acquainted with a few months ago was gone, replaced by a healthier man with more color on his features and an extra spring in his step. The massive window in his office gave us a picturesque view of the sun setting over the suburbs below, painting the landscape a light shade of red-orange. It was a lovely view, the perfect setting for a very positive meeting.
“So how are you feeling today?” he asked.
“A lot better, Doctor, thanks.”
“Well, you look a lot better than the last time we met, that’s for sure.”
If I had been an anime character my surroundings right then and there would have faded into a happy, multi-colored background dotted with glittering stars as the camera panned to a low-angle shot of me to make me seem seven-feet tall as I hopped off my seat, pirouetted several times and ended the impromptu dance routine with a thumbs up while shouting ‘YEEESSSS!!!!’ at the top of my lungs as the kanji that translated my victory yell splattered across the screen for emphasis. That was music to my ears.
Dr. B gave me a brief moment to take in the good news before switching back to business mode.
“Well, let’s get to it…..

And with that began a discussion about my treatment and he also complimented me on how far I’ve come. That I had managed to bounce back from severe pancolitis and returned to healthy haemoglobin levels rather quickly were, according to him, quite impressive. He credited my good health prior to the disease as a possible reason for my speedy recovery in addition to my resilience but also added that it is still a mystery as to how a fit and healthy human being could have possibly come down with the disease in the first place. He also credited my parents for helping me in terms of diet and monitoring my dosages. It was certainly a team effort, not just a one-man show, to get me back on track.
The plan now was to keep me on my current dosages for the time being before our next meeting. Man, you would have needed a steel pipe to remove that smile from my face and my dad was practically jumping off of his seat.
“You should be proud, mate,” Dr. B said with a smile.
“I am, Doc.”

You bet I’m proud. We slayed the beast within, how could I not be?

“As long as you keep taking your medication, continue to keep your stress levels down and stay healthy in general, which seems second-nature to you, I think we can keep this thing in remission for good.”
“He takes his medication religiously,” added my father.
“Good,” smiled Dr. B, “that is good to know. Keep up the current dosage for now.”
Dr. B then added a word of caution, perhaps as a means of making sure that I stayed on the right path and wouldn’t become foolish with overconfidence, the bane of many a recovering patient.
“Don’t fall into the trap of thinking that, just because you are on the road to recovery, you can suddenly reduce your dosage or stop taking your medication completely,” he warned, a tone of resignation in his voice that suggested he had dealt with patients in the past that had made such a stupid mistake, “those same people are the ones that end up in the emergency room requiring surgery to remove their bowels. Stopping treatment at the wrong time will result in the disease coming back – with a vengeance!

‘With a vengeance.’ Wow, that sounds pretty fucking serious.

I nodded my head vigorously. There was no way in hell I was going to go through that shit all over again, pun intended, and I certainly didn’t fancy the idea of having my bowels cut out of me and having to live with a bag hanging out of my abdomen to shit in.
Yeah, HELL NO!!! Fuck that shit! Pun not intended.
“I’ll be good, Sir,” I responded, “let’s keep this thing dead and buried.”
Ever the master at keeping our meetings light-hearted and tension-free, Dr. B then changed the subject.
“Have you returned to your normal life yet?”
“Not yet, no. I wanted to check with you first.”
“I see.”
A grin then formed on his features. This had to be good news.
“I think you’re good now,” he replied happily, “but please continue to take it easy in the meantime.”
The good vibes surged through my system once more and I had to fight the urge to stand up and perform that anime style victory dance-plus-pose. This was one of the happiest days of my life and it had to be a good day for Dr. B, too. Right from the start he seemed to make it his personal mission to restore me back to good health and get me back into my normal life, including the martial arts training, and on both counts he succeeded with flying colors. Yes, he had done it again!
“Thank you for the good news, Doc.”
“Keep up the good work, mate.”
He then turned his attention over to my parents, who had helped to make all of this possible.
“You both did well to help him get to this point.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” my mother answered proudly.”

Dr. B then turned back to his computer and set about booking our next appointment, which he did so for the following January. He also left me with some exciting parting words.
“So like I said, just keep up your current dosage. Come January, let’s see if we can take the first step towards weaning you off at least one of your meds.”

Oh hell yes! One big step back to total normalcy!

I nodded my head enthusiastically. “Yes, doc. I’m glad to hear that.”
“Until then, take care and stay healthy.”
“Yes.”
With that, my parents and I shook hands with Dr. B before departing his clinic. Peak hour traffic had begun during the drive home and my parents and I found ourselves stuck in slow-moving traffic, no doubt surrounded by stressed-out afternoon commuters coming off of another exhausting day at work, but I didn’t care as my mind was elsewhere. I lapped up the good vibes from that positive meeting with Dr. B and as the family vehicle continued to crawl along the traffic under the darkening sky as night fell, all was good in the world. It had been a long, hard climb to get to this point and as I looked up at the road ahead, the mountain’s peak had become visible through the clouds and mist.

Leave out all the rest: Good luck, bro

People are temporary, not all but for some the sentiment rings true,
immediately comes to mind whenever I remember you,
a fragile soul you were, somewhat volatile but full of spirit and pep,
it was almost Christmas time the day we first met,
by your own account yours was a life colorful and tough,
born out of misfortunes, some of your own making, but I ain’t here to judge,
can’t say we were best buds but got along well enough for you to open up ranting and raving whenever the days seemed rough.

And so it went for the next year, chopped it up whenever we could,
talking about life, the bad and the good,
it was hard to keep up once you got going,
you talked a million miles per hour I sometimes couldn’t get a word in,
but still I listened, I guess you needed someone to lean on,
I should know, even loners need a friend to count on,
I was privy to every battle you took part in, internally and externally,
offered advice as best I could, unsure if I was even helping,
you hid your pain well when we spoke face to face,
but with phones between us the conversations went to a darker place,
I won’t go into details but shit hit the fan at times,
took some doing to keep you sane, to keep you in line,
promised that it would be glorious on the other side of the storm,
that pain doesn’t last and soon you’ll get what’s yours.

And soon enough it passed but I won’t take credit for it,
you won the war and now can enjoy the spoils that come with it,
I was happy for you, bro, you well and truly earned it,
but little did I know that something was bubbling beneath the surface,
lost touch a few months later, conversations became sporadic,
perhaps you’d moved on, hopefully to a life that was awesome and fantastic,
then you came screaming back, a text message appeared just like that,
the party must’ve ended after a while for the text spewed forth vitriol and bile,
apparently I’m a phoney and a snake that was stringing you along,
gaslighted and stabbed you in the back and that we’re foes from now on,
shit had me wondering what you’d been smoking,
I guess it’s the end of our friendship, fine by me, so be it
I ain’t mad if that’s what you think of me and the time I’d put in,
you want to be a coward and victim? Go ahead and live with that shit.
but you crossed the line when you did the same to some people we knew,
they are some of my best friends, bud, that was a revolting move,
it’s sad and pathetic, the levels that you would stoop, exposing yourself as a weak, bitch-made fool,
I thought of putting hands on you for that, I ain’t gonna lie,
but doing so would be an unnecessary waste of my time,
good luck in life, bro, you are going to need it,
you’ve burned these bridges for good, there’s no turning back from it.

But still I wish you well, wherever you are,
I hope you’d found peace and happiness, whether you’re near or far,
be strong and hold on, keep yourself in check,
make each day count, don’t do anything stupid that you’ll regret.