Monster Alley
Gratitude Challenge A-Z (part 1)
I was tagged. And when you’re tagged, you’re it!
My Medium friend and mentor The Accidental Monster has graciously tagged me in the Gratitude Challenge A-Z, initiated by Blogs by J. I accepted the challenge. A part of me is saying, “You can do this. It’ll be fun.” My alter ego is giving me the eye roll as if to say, “You’re gonna lose followers.”
My list is written in 2nd person throughout as if I am speaking directly to each word personified. Enough intro! Let’s get started.
Art. Thou art a gift. Thou art an important job skill and also a part of mine identity.
My mom was an artist on canvas and in the kitchen. My dad was an architect. Even my great-grandfather was apparently a con artist.
I feel your magic in the music coaxing me to sleep or to feel remorseful about my unrequited love interest, who is the idea of love herself.
I see you in the symmetry of snow crystals, Fibonacci sequence in sunflowers, and other fractal patterns from foam to clouds. I taste you in the meals prepared with know-how and passion. I sense you in Mother Nature’s designs of all her animate and inanimate creations. You gift me with endless inspiration for which I am grateful.
B rother-in-law, this is an open message to you. Hey, AG, I am grateful that you are part of my family. I remember the day my baby sister introduced me to you shortly before you proposed to her. You were slim then, 24 years ago. Now you’re buff, an amusing Aussie description uttered by my nine-year-old nephew raving about his beefy dad. You have raised four other kids with my sister and somehow, despite everything, your marriage has endured admirably. Did you really get on your knee last week to propose to her again? Hey, AG, you have more than my gratitude. You have my sympathy. (Just teasin’.)
P.S. I vividly remember the surprise lap dance you arranged for my birthday during my earlier holiday visits. And my sister was IN on it, too?! Every ounce of remaining innocence was lost right then and there.
C offee. How do I love thee? Let me count the beans.
I love thee to the depth of body and aroma
My soul can reach, when rising out of slumber
For my smartphone and house keys.
I love thee to the level of every email
Most impatient reminder, by punch-in and pub-hour.
I love thee freely, as Arabica strive for roast.
I love thee purely, no scream for cream.
I love thee with the passion, decocting decadent demitasse
During office briefings, buffering cliché-filled pep talks
I love thee with fire I unabashedly stoke
With my last brew, bewitching me with the bitterness or
Sweet sourness swirling on my tongue
And since my Mocha is of the jealous kind
I shall but love thee better than decaf.
Original sonnet by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (not Shakespeare)
D eath. People judge you harshly. You are condemned by phony priests. They brand you as evil incarnate. Why else would they characterize you as the Reaper? Even surgeons dare to duel with you on their turf — the operating table — using sophisticated technologies to stall for time as they slice away at tumors or imperfections. Modern apothecaries create elixirs to evade you and, like surgeons, they try to buy you time. But the time for what? To live?
Hey, D! You look hurt. Scoot over here next to me. Here’s your pint. Cheers. Now drink and listen. This is how I see it. I’ll try to keep it short cuz E is waiting.
Death, you give meaning to life.
You remind us that life is finite. You’re not the cause of life’s brevity. Rather, the accidents or tragedies in life are what terminate life. In fact, a person can still be breathing but mindlessly trudging around in circles with no sense of purpose, dwelling in the past, or fixating on what-ifs. Face it, that’s not living. But to blame you for all that is nonsense. Philosophically, you’re not life’s antonym, never mind what dictionaries say. You are an essential part of the circle of life. Death heralds in new life. In a sense, you drive the life cycle! You know you’re awesome, Death. Chin up! Now go out and scare the life into the self-absorbed zombies you encounter and teach them to live!
E arth, I’m so so so sorry. Since the inaugural Earth Day on April 22, 1970, we humans have been promising to literally clean up our act and develop ways to preserve our natural environment. But we’ve been acting like apathetic teenagers covering our ears and trying to drown out our moms’ complaints with our whiny “La-la-la-la” chantings.
Then, we organized our first Earth Summit in 1992 when world leaders, diplomats, scientists, media reps, and NGOs had their kumbaya in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. I know. I know. Nothing has really changed for the better. We pat ourselves on the back for making baby steps while you burn. I am so sorry. I know I have nothing to show my gratitude. We have no excuse. Humanity is but a virus, a malignant tumor on this living organism once called Gaia, Mother Earth.
F ire! Fire! Fire! I need you for my coffee. I rely on you for my daily bath. What would I do without you? Roasting chicken, toasting marshmallows, and lighting candles around my bathtub (not that I do) would be impossible! So, thank you, Fire.
G ravity is a grave matter if people believe that life only exists on the ground and irreversibly descends into it over time. That is such a limiting notion. I don’t need to explain the obvious. We need you, Gravity, in our daily lives, such as keeping our furniture on the floor and our babies in their cribs. There are times, of course, when you work against our interests, such as when we’re falling off our bicycles or dropping our wedding rings into the toilet bowl we just did our business in. Ew! We seem to have a love-hate relationship with you, like with our spouses — can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em — except that we’re not co-dependents since you don’t need us. So, I’m grateful to you for being there when I need you and don’t blame you for the vase that broke when it fell. Ok, just a little.
From birth, man carries the weight of gravity on his shoulders. He is bolted to earth. But man has only to sink beneath the surface and he is free.
— Jacques Yves Cousteau
H ealth. This one is too obvious. Who doesn’t appreciate good health? But I have to say, you are becoming more challenging to satisfy as I age through my 50s. I do my best to eat the right kinds of food, control stress levels, exercise, and do other forms of self-care. However, I feel that for the amount of time and effort I put into maintaining you, the returns are not as immediate as they once were. We’ll need to call our lawyers if the cost-to-benefit keeps rising. Hello, are you listening?
“A fit body, a calm mind, a house full of love. These things cannot be bought — they must be earned.” — Naval Ravikant
2 out of 3 ain’t bad. Who needs love anyway (besides the Beatles)?
I nstagram. I won’t get into the political controversy, I promise. We became good pals just over five years ago. We’ve shared fond Kodak moments together in a kind of bromance. You have also been a kind of mentor, gently walking me through the process of editing photos and adding music to my reels. I relished shots of dopamine whenever I got new likes and compliments from friends and family. And you have also been a constant in my life, staying with me the longest on the same account while others like WhatsApp have come and gone for one reason or another.
In addition to photography, you have educated me in foreign languages, science, and baking. Recently, though, I’ve limited my social media activities to 30 minutes a day. As a result, we’ve seen less of each other, but don’t take it personally. As the saying goes,
absence makes the heart grow fonder.
J My name Jake starts with you, J. It’s not my first given name but an almost random nickname I gave myself since the day I desperately needed a job after returning to Japan. The position required an English speaker with a science degree. Easy. I adopted you. Or perhaps you adopted me. Gradually, the sound of my first given name has faded into the background along with the uneasy memories associated with that name. In hindsight, I think you knew I needed a new start — maybe a new identity — because you saw my true potential which had been suppressed by my ethnic name. So, thank you for saving me, J.
K Knowing you, Knowledge, has been great. You’ve opened various doors of opportunity, solved sticky tax return problems, and shown me how to make awesome buttermilk pancakes from scratch. It has also been a mixed blessing. There have been times you played Serpent in the Garden and enticed me to bite your naughty apple on more than one occasion. All in all, however, I think I have done a reasonable job of filtering information and applying you towards my personal growth without over-inflating my sense of self. Thanks for your input, Knowledge.
The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing. — Socrates
L Laugh. Laughing. Laughed. Laughable. LMAO. ROTFL. Laughing in tears. You just make me happy, Laughy. Whenever I’m feeling blue, which is rather often, a laugh — no matter how small — can mean a world of a difference in how I carry myself the rest of an otherwise dreary day. A laugh triggered by seeing my baby nephew intentionally spilling chocolate milk over his head is perhaps the best kind. No, there is even bester. I went over to sit next to him and took my own cup of chocolate milk to pour over my own head. The shrill-like gleeful laugh that came from this tiny boom box of a kid — one could say — liberated me (and destroyed an ear drum). The belly laugh that came from each of us was unbelievably satisfying in its pure and simple way. I guess I like kids... The laughing kind, preferably. And I am grateful.
To be continued with M to Q in the next segment!
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