Dear Linc,

Far be it for me to impose existential questions on you before you start a game: but, do you ever wonder if this is it?

When I was about eleven, Pop and Ma were going through some soap operatic drama that perhaps explains why I am a fan of General Hospital to this day. They both suspected the other of cheating. Pop was more low-key about his suspicions but Ma went so far as to tap the phone. One boring night when they weren’t home — and God knows where — I happened upon a recording of Pop speaking pillow talk in Tagalog.

“I don’t know how my life ended up like this,” he said.

“What do you mean?” said the woman who wasn’t Ma. To this day, I still don’t know who she is.

I couldn’t listen anymore. It was one thing to stumble upon the chatter of adults. To hear your own father imply that he ever wondered even in passing about a life without you is so devastating that you think still about it many years later despite how time has healed old wounds.

You and I are in jobs that we consider perfect for ourselves. For God’s sake, you fucking play baseball! It’s hard to imagine that anyone could think of it as work in the sense of a profound obligation to put bread on the table and a roof over their head. Yet even in my dream job, I’m left with the one feeling I had myself observed in others last night and will again in a few hours: want.

Joe

1. sarka posted this