Besides feeling better today, sylphs abound and are eating chemtrails – one long about an hour and a half ago and another now. The sun is shining and the skies are crispier and bluer! At around 12:40am, I had already crossed the cul-de-sac from the workplace. And the tall guy waved, smiled and joined me. He wanted to eat a sandwich at Olives Greek Cafe off N. First St. in San Jose.
There were work people eating. They looked in my direction and I dare not show my work badge. I sat down at a small, dark, wooden table for two while waiting for him to order his food. It looked like a salad wrapped in a high-rise bread of some sort. He offered me a
baklava:-
Baklava (Ottoman Turkish: باقلوا) is a rich, sweet pastry made of layers of phyllo dough filled with chopped nuts and sweetened with syrup or honey.
(Oh! That word`baklava` closely resembles a Filipino word for homosexuality: `bakla`! I should have joked with him about the food and the word and if he had thought that I was bakla or something). Honestly, he was very kind; otherwise it would have been weird for me to just sit there and watch him eat his food. The snack was TOO sweet for me. But I enjoyed his company nonetheless.
So we walked and talked about stuff, mostly relationships of people, his family and of my philosophy and more about me later on. I talked about how his two children (are not inconvenience but) decided to incarnate and chose him to be their father; how I avoided office romance because of a VERY good-looking golfer guy I once dated and how people choose what they feel is right, swallow their own truth, spit out the ones they don’t like and sometimes profit from regurgitated truths – or (as he put it) derivatives (or in my mind – of the matrix).
I learned of his sentiments of dating a Filipina for six years (off and on), his bum ankle from doing heavy-lifting squats, how he walks slow for others because of his long strides, his tired eyes from lack of sleep, the melodious Filipina talking, the Filipino languages he learned from his co-workers and clients, the nice Vietnamese hat and the date of his employment here:- It’s a double-digit number – 22, by the way, a co-incidence to my last date of my former employer. He mentioned something melancholy in my eyes. I told him it’s a burden one must carry for knowing too much. It’s really called a
The thousand-yard stare or two-thousand-yard stare is a phrase originally coined to describe the limp, unfocused gaze of a battle-weary soldier. The stare is a characteristic of acute stress reaction, also known as combat stress reaction, which is related to post-traumatic stress disorder.[1]
The despondent stare is a symptom displayed by victims who have succumbed to the shock of trauma by dissociation from it. The phrase originated from military circumstances, but it is a symptom of severe psychological distress that can occur anywhere and is not unique to soldiers.
If only these people realize the burden one carries in silence, the eyes could never say exactly but show only a small window into one’s soul (or secret).
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