The Gift

i have this book
i bought it for about $3
from a bookstore on the outskirts of town
it's a little kids' bible
it's still too hard for me though
i bought it so i can read it w/ my neighbors
to practice my language reading

i bought it w/ my own money, too. you see, my family is upper-middle class. i've always depended on them to bail me out when i need money. but this year, i want to live on my own
i'm learning how to value things
how to budget my money.
it's the first time in my life i've actually budgeted
i'm spending $20 a month to eat out, $5 to skype my family
i put my savings away at the beginning of the month, bundled in a safe.

i used to give anything to anybody whenever i felt like
and i thought i was a giving person
but i realized, that my idea of giving was skewed.
because if you value things, that means counting its cost
to really give, you have to choose what + when to give, and to whom
i've realized, that i'm not the generous guy that i thought i was
i like to appear generous. but really i'm very selfish. i don't like to give.
i like to appear giving
i give on impulse
i give stragetically
i give manipulatively
i give with strings attached
i give to some, but not to others
i give to those who deserve it
i give to those who give to me
i give when people are watching
but when it comes down to it, i don't really like to give
my time. my money. my things. myself. i like to keep it. for myself

but i don't want to stay that way
when i give, i want to really mean it.

so i have this book
and i'm taking it over to my neighbor's to read and practice
i'm a little nervous because i wonder if they'll be offended. maybe they won't even want me to read it there.
"we don't want to read those falang stories about pra-yesu"

my neighbor has a little daughter
she's barely past 1
she used to be scared of me for a month
but now she likes me. we play sometimes
she likes to play with random things: shoes, a belt, chairs



i visit them to say hi
but really, to practice my language reading skills
it's been getting better
i bring my kid's bible there
it's hard for me. but i want to practice.
i pull it out + her parents are wowed. what a beautiful kid's book! they don't have books like that

they can't afford books like that. + this country doesn't even have them. they're just getting by w/ food for the next meal. + literacy + education is still in the developmental stages

i read the cover: the bible for kids.
they ask: is it a gift for her?

i get defensive. selfish. how dare u assume it's a gift.
+ i say: no. actually it's for me. i'm learning how to read. can i practice?

they smile. the mom corrects me as i read. she's only a high school graduate herself, but she reads proudly

i ponder how much i spent on the book. it's $3. just 3 measly dollars. but to me right now, that's a lot. it's 25,000 kip. it's 4 hours in the internet cafe. it's 3 meals out. it's a month's worth of phone credit. it's actually a sacrifice for me, on my budget now.

i flip to the next page. the title says: "pra-yesu came down to be born." a baby's bundled up in a manger. three kings have followed a star to give him gifts. i point to one of the wise men's camels, and ask the little girl, what's that? the mom answers. i don't think there's a word in their language for camel, because the mom says, "it's a cow"

the little girl is distracted. she's only 1. the book is only interesting for 10 seconds at a time. but the mom is entranced. what a nice story, she says.

it takes all the willpower i can muster, but i make the decision. and i tell the parents: i change my mind. i'll give the book to your daughter. you can read her the stories.

the little girl looks up from the book, and stares at me intently. she smiles. she flips to the beginning, to the page about creation. adam and eve are looking at the sunset, surrounded by a deer, rabbits, a lion. and the mom starts to read.

The Laughing Man

he's the neighborhood laughing man. i see him everyday walking by with his dirty bare feet. wearing the same grease stained green jacket, no matter the weather. his hair is disheveled. his face is leathery, ageless. he could be 80 but he also looks like he's 15 sometimes. when he smiles, he's like a little child. he laughs w/ abandon - frenzied, uncontrollable. like he doesn't care about what anybody thinks.

he digs through the trash every night for food. seeing him has always filled my heart with guilt. how can somebody live off my trash?

it's around midnight one night, and i'm sitting on my porch when he comes by to dig in my trash.
He plucks out a magazine + squeals with joy.
he sits down to read it
it's a teenybopper magazine

i've seen him before and i've always been scared of him
but tonite, i dunno what's different. i want to be a part of his life. i want to dig in the trash with him.

i walk next to him, but he doesn't see me.
he picks up his bag and walks away.
i follow him, and call out, hey, hey there, hey you!
he can't hear
i realize
he's deaf

i follow him to his alleyway where he stays. when I tap his shoulder, he turns around and looks surprised. he shuffles past me and sits down on a concrete divider. I sit next to him. I reach out for his bag. he lets me open it.

it's full of discarded children's books, pretty boxes, random packaging, knickknacks that people throw away. he pulls out a teenybopper magazine, and we read it together. I reach out to touch his hand. he doesn’t make a sound. we hold hands there on the side of the dusty road, tuk-tuks creaking by.

as I get up to leave, he points to his stomach and rubs it. I point to my mouth, asking, are you hungry? he nods. I go back home and get some leftover rice and curry, and make a fried egg. I bring it back to him. he smiles and giggles. he eats it slowly, meticulously. He uses his hands to eat the egg. he pushes the carrots around like a little kid would. he likes carrots, i think. when he’s about halfway done, he offers me some food. I take a bite (to be polite), and give him back the plate. he doesn’t finish it all. he’s been quiet this whole time, but finally he laughs. his grin shows a row of rotting teeth. he’s happy.

ever since then, the laughing man and I haven't been able to hang out like we did that night. I saw him the other day, sitting on a concrete divider as usual with his bag of treasures. the little kids at the local elementary school were pointing at him, mocking him. daring each other to touch him. when he saw me, he smiled. nodded politely. and laughed.