Top Ten

Almost the end of the year and I've been sleeping through the top ten list tidal wave. Where have I been? I still have time to throw something together though, so I'm taking Time Magazine's model as my template to present 10 Rat's Nest's special awards:

Person of the Year Award

Time Magazine

Well sure, Mark Zuckerberg created facebook, that social network thingy, but more significantly, look at those green eyes—how many people can do that? Therefore, an award goes to the person with the same extraordinary gaze, a gaze with penetrating color and allure, which is Molly, one of my Saturday morning walking partners and a member of the prog rock band Phideaux. Thank you Molly!

#1 Person with the Bluest Eyes of the Year Award

Okay, one down and 9 to go...

As keeper of the Rat's Nest, I'm proud to present Malka, our hard working, hard playing and hard eating, pet rat with:

#2 Rat of the Year Award

(snapped by a paparazzie)

Maybe we should just do five, five is commendable, don't you think? 

Recalling READ Books—my favorite book store in Eagle Rock—and it's wonderful Comedy Night of yore, here is:

#3 Comedian of the Year, with her dog, Award

Maria Bamford at READ Books

(just look at that mug)

Continuing, on a more somber note...

A poem, written by my former student, Jae, gets the:

 #4 Poem of the Year Award: 

Do sadness, do pain,  If you want your own life,  

Do suffering, Do endurance, If you want to live in heaven, 

Suffering is happiness in true life

By the time I got around to asking Jae what this poem meant, he had disappeared. But perhaps he was trying to say that to achieve happiness, one must make friends with suffering, as it is true life, not the one imagined. That, more than anything else, is what binds immigrants in this city, well, actually, anywhere, together. Without doing in-depth research, I can safely say that immigrants, those poor and dispossessed, suffer more than native speakers, language being a Herculean task to surmount. 

Sonny (Korean), Manny (Thai) and Mina (Persian Jew)

Okay, I think I can do a few more....

 #5 Quintessential California Photo of the Year Award

(photo credit: Tom Harjo, who wasn't even trying)

# 6 Best Smile from a Piece of Bread We've Ever Eaten Award
(I swear we found this as is, a fluke of nature)

#7 The Kids are Homekkah Award, to the kids who came home, Mekko and his friend Katrina (l) and Maya (r) (who really didn't want her picture taken, sorry Maya)

And finally to all: health, happiness and...

#8 PEACE for the New Year Award

(Not ten, damn it, but close!)

Happy New Year

After New York City... a deep slumber

I'd planned for months to go to NYC, planned every detail, everything I wanted to accomplish, which I did, but regrettably I neglected to make any plans for coming home. Once back, I fell into a deep sleep from which I've had trouble waking. 

Everything in Los Angeles is overwhelmingly bright, all white, dazzling light. I'm hypnotized by the white light.

 white everywhere

I feel like Snow White after taking a bite of the apple (get it, the apple?). The white houses here remind me of Greece, a country I've never been to but wish to visit, although I keep flashing on the recent rioting in the streets. What anarchy! What burning images!

This image of rioting in Greece looks like a scene out of Wagner's opera "The Ring."

Disoriented: feeling lost or confused, especially with regard to direction or position.  

It must be my job. Before NYC I had no problem teaching all week, but now I'm dragging myself to work. How much longer can I teach English to immigrants at night, when they seem not to be learning a thing?

Ehsanolah M., one of my longest running students, is a modern day Job, experiencing one failure after another, yet he keeps on trying. He's a religious man so he'd never believe that the gods are against him, but God keeps tripping him up: Ehsan sets his alarm for 4:30 a.m., but this morning, he tells me, he fell back to sleep and woke too late to get to Shul for morning prayers. He rushes there nonetheless, but misses the last prayer. 

He then trudges back home and finds his car is leaking oil. "The car is no good" he says. He's been saying that for a very long time. He takes it in to get serviced, but by the time he gets home the car's empty of oil again. By 9 a.m. he packs a big black garbage bag full of cheap clothing to sell and takes the bus downtown to L.A.'s garment district, walking for hours up and down Santee Alley, Olympic Blvd, Twelfth Street, Wall and Pico, but no one is buying. He walks and walks for "little benefit," and with his feet hurting, and makes not a farthing. He comes to class exhausted and sits with his head in his hands staring at the page, not knowing how to answer the simplest question. He's been out of work ever since I began teaching, almost two years now—with no money, no prospects, no way to support his family. English is the last thing on his mind.

Ehsanolah M. and his teacher

New York was so thrilling, I could have stayed forever, going to museums, having lunch with friends, writing with my friend M in her beautiful apartment, but this is real life, not as thrilling when you get right down to it.

This is Me!

Ehsanolah M., my Persian student from Isfahan, can no longer keep up with the advanced English class. Last night we arranged for him to go to David's intermediate class, something I should have done a long time ago. I will miss his soft puppy dog eyes and gentle ways. Sometimes it was hard to tell if he was sleeping or about to cry— both possibilities. He was once a designer of fabrics, with a prestigious Engineering degree from Iran. Since losing his job eight months ago in downtown Los Angeles, he has spent long days schlepping a garbage bag full of cheap garments around Santee Alley looking for any kind of work.


One evening we were reading an article about the South Korean relocation camp, Hanowan. I was worried Ehsan wouldn't be able to follow or understand, but when we began to read about one refugee's memories of the mountains and rivers of North Korea, Ehsan sat up, all ears. "I was surprised at the reality of South Korea compared to my anticipation," the refugee told the reporter, "I thought it would be the start of my happiness, but it was the start of a hard life." Ehsan's eyes brimmed with tears. "This is me. This is exactement me!" he said, "Missing too more, too more."