Issuu

Written by 傑森龍 GS Jackson Taken from soulparking.com/blogs/2010/01/3

Fighting Shiva (Kathmandu, Nepal) I first learned what real love was from a gay man. His name was Edgar. I was going through my separation with my wife and I was on a conference call with him while living in Heidelberg, Germany. He lived in and around the Washington, DC area. When our business discussion was over, as a friend he asked how I was doing. He knew I was in the middle of an emotional crisis. “I guess as well as expected.” I answered. “Remember keep strong, brother.” “What they say about separation and divorces is correct. Everything that you love about a person becomes the thing you despise about each other in the end. And you tend to fight about everything – cutting everything down the middle. That dish. These shoes. But then there are those times when I just want to stop the arguing and hold her. And ask her for us to get back where we once were. But then she says something that infuriates me – and that fleeting moment is over.” “I understand,” Edgar said soothingly. “Do you understand? I mean you and James have a perfect relationship. I mean hell, you were a gay couple before it was acceptable to be a gay couple. Before it was cool to be gay. And you have kept it together for ten years. Hell I am in the socially acceptable heterosexual relationship and I can’t keep things together.” “But it’s not all peaches and cream. I get so angry at him sometimes. He drives me crazy.” “So what keeps you going back?” Edgar was quiet for a second and then he laughed. “Well, it’s silly. But regardless of the fighting or our disagreements, I cannot wait to get home each day and tell him about my day.” I paused to listen for more. “That’s it?” I could feel his office phone jostle as he nodded his head. “Yes. That’s it. My day revolves around every day and going home to him. And telling him everything. And he makes me laugh about it.” “I want that,” I said out loud but a little quietly. Edgar spoke up immediately. “And one day you will have it. Keep searching.”

“How will I know I have found it?” “Because it will be hard. You will have to fight for it.” “But why?” “Think of me. I felt like I was going to hell. My entire life I was told that God hated me if I was homosexual. So I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t. I had lots of girlfriends. I had sex with women. I did everything on the outside – but inside I was dying inside. And worse yet, I had to fight my conservative family. I grew up in a conventional Christian household. If they found out, they were going to disown me. So imagine this – loving one person – and losing your soul, being eternal damned to hell, and being banned from your family forever.” “Where is God’s love in that?” I asked. Edgar took in a breath and collected himself. “Finally when I met James – he gave me the courage to be me. To be true to myself. And he loved me. He loved me for who I really was – and he wasn’t ashamed of anything about me. He helped me love myself. So I got up the courage – stood up to everything – and slapped God in the face.” “And now?” “I have realized I didn’t need to slap God in the face. He brought me James. God made it hard so I would love and appreciate James more. I don’t care that people say that homosexual relationships are from the devil. We don’t care. What we have is too special. Words cannot describe it. Nothing about the devil is in this.” “Love is truly universal.” “Love is ubiquitous, yes.” He waited before he brought the next words. “So your day will come.” “And when it happens I will have to punch Buddha in the belly?” He laughed. “No, remember you don’t have to punch Buddha or fight Shiva.” And then he finished off. “God is on your side. He will just make it hard because he wants you to appreciate it.” -My planning had started in Sydney, Australia. My budget didn’t allow for Mount Everest. So I was going all chips in – and I was going to sell the things that were the most precious to me to get the money to go. And actually it wasn’t things – it was just one thing.

And the most precious thing to me was my HD film camera. It was the same camera J.J. Abrams used to film the movie “Cloverfield”. It was my most expensive and prized item. I had waited and saved to purchase it for nearly two years. I had it to make my films. I had it to remind me of my dream. To turn the words I was writing in my screenplays and treatments into moving art. But because my job had me constantly moving – I could never use it. So it sat in its padded case most of the time. I had taken it out a couple of times to make sure it was still usable. I had filmed a couple of basic projects – interviews for a pitched global television show out of Hollywood that never took off called “M7”. I filmed the “Vagina Monologues” on behalf of the cast during its first run in Hong Kong. . I had more recently filmed one of our TakeOut Comedy shows but I was so rusty with the controls – that the video was unusable. So I made a decision to sell it. From Australia, I placed an ad in AsiaExpat.com and I cut the price in half because I didn’t have time to wait and have people haggle about the price. Besides, it was already an obsolete model. The reduced price had a huge impact. By the next day, I had several requests. But all were asking for prices below the price I was asking. Obviously, they didn’t realize what an amazing camera it was. But there was one inquiry that said they needed the camera immediately and would pay the listed price. I replied back I would hold the camera for them but unfortunately I was in Australia and wouldn’t be back until the weekend. Would they wait for it? Another email later the lady named Sam said they would. I thought to myself I was cutting things incredibly close. I would be arriving back in Hong Kong on Saturday and flying out to Kathmandu on Sunday. I would have to meet Sam Saturday evening or early Sunday morning – and then rush to the airport. And hope that she didn’t reconsider – because if she didn’t purchase it – I couldn’t go. Funny that a woman named Sam held my destiny in her pocket book. Funny that it was a woman named Sam. When the last woman that had me this crazy was named Samantha Hill who everyone called Sam and that was my senior year in high school.

On the day I left Sydney, the unthinkable happened. My Blackberry died. It just stopped working. I had Sam’s number programmed in it. Yes, I could always get the number from our email exchanges but my time was limited before I caught my plane. I would have to try to beg, borrow, and steal a phone to put my SIM chip to let her know when and where we could meet. I finally got a message to Sam when I was back in Hong Kong and she said she would meet me during my standup comedy show at TakeOutComedy in SoHo that night. I was going to do a cameo at the start. I got up and did my 5 minutes that selfishly turned into 10 minutes – which I apologized to Jami about. But I was just happy to be back home with my comedy family. I was out on the smoking balcony outside the club with Mary Ho telling her about my crazy idea of going to Nepal when James Foreman came out and said someone was looking for me. I thought that was strange because the show was still going on. I went out and went to the front and a woman in a striped business suit – waited by the stairs. She held out her hand and a little too loud she said, “I am Sam.” I shushed her and so did Jami. I motioned her up the stairs of the club and leaned over to Jami and asked him to forgive us. I went to the front corner before mounting the stairs and grabbed the camera equipment and lugged it up and outside. She apologized for being late but she had a client with her she was trying to wine and dine for a big deal – so she was having to do whatever he said. She also went on to explain that she was about to travel to Israel to do a documentary on the Rupert Murdoch of Israel print publishing and media. She needed the camera immediately. We tore open the padded case and she brought up the camera and started fingering it – touching the controls – seeing if it worked. In the quiet, I told her my real reason for selling it because I was heading to Nepal. “Wow, you got balls.” She said. “Yeah.” And I didn’t mean to rush but I needed to get back to my show. “So how do you want to do this?” “Well, I can’t do anything right now because I am with my client downstairs and cannot lug this around…” “But you do want this – right?” I asked.

“Yes, definitely. I will call you tomorrow. When is your flight out?” “I need to be at the airport around 3 pm so we need to meet before noon.” “Okay I will call around 10 in the morning to schedule a drop.” And with that we put everything back in the padded case. -The next morning I was luckily able to go to the CSL shop and exchange my broken Blackberry with a Blackberry that worked. But I got no call from Sam around 10 am. Nor at noon. And around 2 pm because I had no choice – I called Cathay Pacific to cancel my flight to Kathmandu. And as I was waiting on the phone for Cathay to cancel my economy seat to Kathmandu – I thought about the story of Shiva and wondered why. Shiva should understand what I am going through. Shiva had to fight his own son Ganesha to be with his wife Parvati. So why was Shiva fighting me? Why was he trying to stop me from what I had to do? “Okay sir,” the Marco Polo ticket lady said. “Your flight to Kathmandu has been cancelled.” I held on. “Are there still seats available?” “Yes sir. If you want to rebook just call us back.” So yes, there was still hope. -I got a message from a man named Pete on my voicemail that he was also interested in the camera. I called him and he seemed a bit jaded about buying anything from a classifieds column online. He explained he had been burned several times before. But he agreed to meet at Starbucks next to the Central Airport Express Station the next day. He said the familiar words, “I will call you around 10 am to schedule the actual time.” And the next day, before waiting for him to call I sent him an SMS on my new Blackberry – telling him I would be waiting at the Starbucks around noon.

He SMS’d back that he would be there around 1 o’clock. I agreed. Then hope started again. I sat there nervously awaiting his arrival. And suddenly, an unshaven man with long, sea bleached blonde hair showed up. “Hello,” he said with a garbled Melbourne and London accent. We shook hands. And then I put on my best sales face and explained about the camera – and any questions he had. I brought it out – turned it on – and he started working the controls. He said he was buying it for his brother but he acted like he knew the camera intimately. “I was a former photographer and movie director,” he said. “You were?” I asked in disbelief. “Yeah I retired. Got tired of the bullshit.” And as we started talking further – I felt like I was looking at myself in the future. He still believed in people but he questioned love. “Because,’ he started, “one time there was a woman I loved a lot. I met her here in Hong Kong and we were together for nearly a year. Then she went back home. I followed her there.” “Where did she live?” “Alabama in the States.” “You are kidding! That’s where I am from!” “Yeah, she was from Birmingham, Alabama. I followed her there to let her know that I was serious about her. That I meant business. And when I got there – she had moved on. She had a local Alabama boyfriend – and she forgot me.” “So the trip was wasted?” “No way, man. I met an even hotter girl from Wisconsin. I met her in Atlanta – and I moved to Wisconsin and lived in a cabin by the lake for nearly two years. That was the most creative time of my life.” I took in a breath and said, “You know – that’s the real reason I am selling this camera. I am trying to follow a woman and tell them how I really feel. I was going to sell this camera to get there.”

“Look man, I am 50 years old. I encourage you to do it. Always follow your heart wherever it takes you. Yeah, it kicks the shit out of you – but isn’t that what life is about? Why not?” “Thanks man.” “Besides on that trip coming back from Wisconsin when I was moving back to Hong Kong – I was coming through JFK in New York City. And I was flying First Class and going through the VIP line and behind me – I saw the Dali Lama. He was going through security. I was in awe. I was about to go to him and say something – but then just security whisked him away.” “Wow.” “And when I got to the First Class lounge I asked the lady at the desk if the Dali Lama was in the lounge. She denied he was there. So I told her to tell him if he was there, ‘Tell him he has a supporter and that my prayers are with him.’” Then Pete’s eyes went back to the past thinking about something and he smiled. “When I got to my First Class seat there was a small note in my seat that read, ‘Thanks for your support. My prayers are also with you. Signed, Dali Lama’”. “Incredible.” Pete reached into his wallet and started pulling out wads of Hong Kong bills. “Go man. Get to Nepal. Follow your heart. And when you get back, let’s have a beer and tell me what happened.” -“I am calling to rebook a flight to Kathmandu,” And the Cathay Pacific agent started clicking and clacking on her keyboard. I gave her my Marco Polo number and she brought up my original booking. “What’s your name?” I asked. “Yan. My name is Yan.” She said. “Thanks for doing this,” I said. “No problem.” But then she asked if she could put me on hold as she looked up availability. Finally she came back apologizing for not keeping me on hold. “But I am sorry to say that all flights from Hong Kong to Kathmandu are completely full.” “What?” I said in disbelief. “They said when I cancelled there were plenty of seats.”

“I am sorry sir. Looks like the seats booked up quickly.” “But I have to get to Kathmandu.” She paused before going on. “Sorry sir, but sadly there are no more seats available. I have looked at all flights.” I heard my voice rising. “Look, do whatever you can – use all my miles. I can sit anywhere. In the jumpseat. In first class. In business class. Wherever.” Yan could sense my frustration. “I understand sir. But sadly there are no more seats available.” “Come on. Seriously?” Yan was quiet and then she spoke up quickly, “Sir, please wait a minute. I am going to put you on hold.” “Sure. Fine.” And I saw myself in the mirror of my apartment pacing the floor. Then Yan came back on, “Sir, I have found you a business class seat but there is a connection through Bangladesh going there. But direct flight back to Hong Kong. Is this okay?” “Hell yeah.” I smiled. “I am going to name my first baby Yan even if it’s a boy.” Yan laughed. “That’s not necessary.” And I heard her fingers go clickety-clack. -And it was when I had sat down in my Business Class seat that I finally let out a breath. That’s when I finally realized I was doing this. This was happening. I couldn’t stop smiling. My heart started beating fast when the plane was rolling fast down the runway. I was so happy that I thought I could personally push the plane into the air. That’s when I suddenly realized one thing I had overlooked. One thing I had forgotten. “Oh shit,” I said a little too loudly and the Bangladeshi man sitting beside me spun his head in my direction. But I just sat there and told myself not to panic. But then I said it again and again, “Oh shit, shit.”

It seemed like it took the pilot forever to turn off the Fasten Seat Belt sign. And when it went off – I leaped to my bag in the overhead. I pulled out my passport holder and ransacked it. I tore all its contents out and threw it in my seat. But it wasn’t there. “Shit, shit,” I said over and over. The head flight attendant pushed past the curtain that hid the galley with her paper roster of Cathay Pacific and Dragonair loyal customers. She was about to go personally to thank each one of them for flying today. When she saw me and saw the seat that was empty, she looked down on her sheet and said, “Yes, Mr. Jackson can I help you?” “Yes. I might have a problem. I might not be able to get a visa on arrival when we touch down in Nepal. What happens when that happens? Do I get sent straight back?” Her face showed genuine concern. “Yes. They will not allow you to stay. Why won’t you be able to?” “I don’t have a picture. I forgot to get a picture made for my visa.” She bit her lip. “Yeah, most airports have picture taking places for visas on arrival. But sadly, I don’t think Kathmandu does.” “Do you think they can make an exception?” She shook her head slowly. “Actually no.” My head was reeling. To get all the way to Kathamandu to be denied entry. I sadly went back to my seat and slumped in my chair. I sat there wondering if they would accept my North Carolina Driver’s license as my photo id. That would be my last resort. I pulled out my laptop bag and started searching through it for anything with identification. Suddenly, staring me down was my employee id. My employee id in all its black eye glory. I was the only employee of my company – maybe anywhere – that had a black eye in their employee id. I got it on my last day in Cape Town, South Africa after a drunken entanglement because I was in a state of emotional chaos because Jasmin and I had called off our engagement and alone I hopped on the plane to Hong Kong. I loved that employee id. It represented me. Yeah, I was a little stubborn. Fighting for what I believed in. Fought for what I wanted. What I needed. And I wore that id

proudly. I kept it with me at all times to remind me of how far I had come. It also reminded me of how far I still had to go. But now it had another purpose. I went back to the galley. I asked one of the air hostesses if they had any scissors. “Why?” she asked. And I pulled out my employee id. “I need a photo id for my visa on arrival.” “Isn’t that your employee id?” I laughed. “Yes.” I handed it over to her. She investigated it. “Is that a black eye?” I laughed again proudly. “Yes. Long story.” She went into one of the metal shelves in front of her and pulled out scissors. “I think for it to be proper you need some white space to frame your picture.” I nodded not knowing – or actually caring. She began to cut and it was strange seeing my employee id being mutilated. Finally when she was done – she handed it over to me. “There you go. You are ready for your visa on arrival.” “Thanks,” I said. I fingered the photo and was never more proud than that very moment. I looked at myself with my purple shiner highlighting my eye socket and beamed. -The Hotel Himalaya was dark when I arrived – it was nearly 1 o’clock in the morning. After paying in cash for my room, the bus boy more like a man took to my room on the third floor. Although the hotel interior looked a little worn and older, my room inside was incredibly modern. The bus boy went to the balcony and pulled back the curtains showing the pitch black darkness of outside Kathmandu – except for the occasional yellow street lamp. “Tomorrow, sir, if the weather is good – you can see the Himalayas. Even Mount Everest on a very good day.” And he winked at me. He led me around my room and as he stood near the door before leaving – I reached into my wallet and handed him a United States dollar.

“No sir, I cannot accept.” “No, its okay.” And I rolled his hand up on the dollar. He put his hands together and said, “Thank you sir.” When the door closed, I was there in my room alone. And I said aloud, “I fucking did it! I am here!” And when I turned around to look at the fruit basket there was a local travel magazine next to it called, “Nepal Traveller”. And on the front cover in all his glory was a massive stone statue of Shiva. The bold print on the magazine read, “Tallest Statue of Lord Shiva.” I laughed. Then I said aloud, “Let’s call a truce. No more fighting okay?” Then I realized I was talking to a magazine cover and went to my luggage to unpack.